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Copyright, 1914 

By Marvin Campen, the Author 

Nashville, Tenn. 



DEC 26 1914 
}CU891147 



lovingly and respectfully dedicates this volume to Kis parents, 

and 
and Kis v?ife, 

SHOTL&JHE W©11ICI CAMPEi 

To Kis parents, because in tKeir tender 

demotion for tKe AutKor, botK Kis and tKe book's faults and 

imperfections will be condoned; to tKe wife, because 

in Ker anxiety to beKold sometKing tKe 

AutKor Kas accomplisKed, tKe 

imperfections of tKe book 

v?ill be forgotten 

THE AUTHOR 



(Written for Mr. A — , President of the Calliopean 
Literary Society.) 



WHEN we glance at the calendar of ages and behold here 
and there a tinted figure glow, a letter of living fire 
gleam forth in gorgeous, yet pure and perfect glory; 
when we step on the threshold of Time's hallowed 
hall of Fame and wend our way along its mysterious, half -hidden 
labyrinths, searching for curios, and wondering in mute amaze- 
ment at its pictured grandeur, pausing now and then before the 
shrine of some sacred goddess, some fair and faultless image of 
grace and beauty, some pure and perfect reflection of virtue and 
love; when we scan with certain scholarly care the pages", of 
history, and see written there on earth's eternal parchment- 
scroll such names as Deborah, Cornelia, Elizabeth and "Mary, 
the Mother of Washington," we are made to realize the glorious 
consummation of God's plan, the crowning excellence of His 
handiwork, in giving man a helpmeet and bestowing upon his 
kingdom a creature whose bewitching smile should tempt him 
to fall for the sake of showing his real worth and merit in rising 
again. Since tne calm and quiet comfort of Eden was forever 
closed to mankind, woman, that crowning climax of all creation, 
has unceasingly struggled by his side, ever patient and kind and 
gentle, her feminine strength never yielding, to regain, not this 
garden of ease and idleness, but a freehold in the realm of his 
maker where angel bands chant the immortal hymn, its sublime 
notes to be forever wafted in pure and plaintive perfection across 
the Elysian fields, at last to be echoed in strains of soothing 
sweetness from the very corridors of Jehovah's temple. 

Who would not he moved by the story of the simple yet bound- 
less prudence and devotion of Deborah, "The Mother of Israel?" 
Who could read of the Excellence of Rachel and be not convinced 
that Jacob's fourteen summers at working and wooing and win- 
ning were not ill-spent? Aye, these women were the mothers of 
men and the makers of history. 

[7] 



Musing Moments. 



Classic Greece and Rome contribute their constellations of 
feminine luster and virtue to the galaxy of eternity. No one 
was prouder of or rendered more immortal by Thermopylae than 
the mothers of those Spartan lads who fought and fell. And 
'twas the hand of fair Aspasia who passed the cup from the 
fountain of wisdom filled with the sparkling libation for the lips of 
Socrates who imbibed, and blessed her who gave it. 'Tisuse- . 
less to refer to that glad morning when the light of Heaven 
shone in unspeakable glory about the earth, and the star of 
Bethlehem beckoned the wise men of the East and guided them 
until it hovered o'er a certain city and with its brilliant beams 
searched out a spot where lay a virgin mother, and her babe in 
a manger; of this mother's care and confidence through the 
years; and at last of her tears and devotion on the heights of 
Calvary. Oh, most blessed woman! — 

"Not she with traitorous lips the Master stung; 
Not she denied Him with a liar's tongue; 
She, when Apostles fled, had power to brave — 
Last at the cross, and earliest at the grave." 

Every nation has its list of heroes, but none of them that have 
progressed in the march of civilization is without its list of 
heroines. Of whom can France be more boastful than of the 
simple, yet heroic Maid of Orleans, whose love for liberty fear- 
lessly burst forth in all of its fervor and fury and deluged the 
cries of treason and fanaticism in an ocean of triumph? For 
whom does England cherish a fonder affection than Elizabeth, 
the Virgin Queen, or Victoria the beloved guardian of her for- 
tunes for more than half a century? 

And America, blessed America! Sweet land of Liberty. Is 
she not proud of the achievements of her womanhood? 'Twas 
a woman, fair Isabella, who first gave audience to one who had 
been dubbed the crank of the age by nation after nation, and 
sent him on a voyage in quest of a western passage to' the Orient, 
but to receive him again and hear a wonderful as well as a doubt- 
ful message from his lips as they charmingly related the dis- 
covery of a new world. It is said that a woman was the first 
to set foot on the rocks at Plymouth and the first to unfold the 
banner of the Pilgrim Fathers on New England shores. 'Twas 
Abigail Adams who penned the first Declaration of Independence 



[8] 



The Daughters of the South. 



and mailed it to her husband advising him to plant his foot firmly 
for the interests of his countrymen against the tyranny of George 
the Third. And when the clouds of war gathered denser and 
darker, and at last burst like a torrent of hell itself in all its 
fury upon the Colonies, who took a nobler part, a braver stand 
against the foe than these mothers and daughters of the Ameri- 
can Revolution? What wonder is it that at Monmouth we see 
the daring Molly Pitcher rush to occupy the place of him who 
had fallen in an effort to keep his pledge to defend her and her 
home from every peril and danger? What wonder at the sacri- 
fices made to relieve the sad, discouraged .band of suffering 
soldiers at Valley Forge? What wonder, I say, do we entertain, 
when we perceive how these immortal women kindled in the 
hearts of their husbands and sons and brothers the fires of lib- 
erty and independence? 

And our own beloved Southland! Our own "Bonny South!" 
Where in the pages of history, even to the foundation of the 
world, do we find a land so blessed with these fair, fragrant flow- 
ers of beauty and grace and purity? Where do we find a record 
more romantic, a firmament more effulgent with radiance and 
glory as 'tis shed in unsparing fullness from her multitude of 
glittering orbs? Where do we find the spirit of chivalry blended 
more perfectly with the soul of simplicity and practical devo- 
tion to home and country? Where do we find the knightly 
pride of the Cavalier or the genial hospitality of the lords of the 
land more completely crowned with the cream of common sense? 
Truly, ours is the "land which flows of milk and honey," and it 
was of us that the Psalmist chanted this lasting hymn: "He 
maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside 
the still waters; he restoreth my soul — surely goodness and 
mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." And for this 
happy state of affairs no one deserves more perpetual praise, a 
higher and more lasting tribute than the daughters of the South. 

Look for a moment at that unparalleled picture of heroism 
displayed by that simple child of the forest and native of Vir- 
ginia, the dusky daughter of Powhatan, as she rushes to rescue 
the daring paleface from death at the hands of her savage father; 
and behold today the many millions from every quarter of the 
globe turning their faces toward the spot where John Smith and 
John Rolfe braved the dangers of the early settlement. In this 



[9] 



Musing Moments. 



tercentennial celebration at Jamestown no one will point with 
more patriotic pride to his ancestral line than will the descend- 
ants of Pocahontas. 

In the dark days of the revolution a purer devotion to the 
cause of liberty could not have been found than that which 
swelled the hearts of the South's fair daughters and poured forth 
in unceasing floods of sympathy and sacrifice. Prayers could 
not have issued from purer hearts, nor offerings laid upon the 
altar of their country by tenderer, gentler hands. And I dare 
say that today, had not the needle and the loom kept harmonious 
note with the clank of bayonets and the rattle of musketry, the 
thrilling story of a continent redeemed from tyranny and op- 
pression would be replaced with a horrid tale of a heinous re- 
bellion, and the name of Patrick Henry would be a fit synonym 
to that of Judas or Cataline. No truer type of the South's wom- 
anhood could loom forth than that of Mary, the mother of Wash- 
ington. She it was who taught that boy in his tenderer years 
the lessons of truth and duty. She it was who taught him to 
reverence his God and pay due allegiance to his King. She it was 
who taught him to love his home and his country, who taught 
him to "abhor that which is evil and cleave unto that which is 
good", who taught him to know his duty when he saw it and to 
rise in the strength of his manhood in the defense of his con- 
victions. No wonder this man towered above his fellows, for 
these precious seed had fallen in a fertile field, and so when he 
unsheathed his sword and invoked the blessings of Heaven upon 
the task which his heart had set to perform, the people knew 
the Father of their Country and followed him o'er the hills of 
fortune, through the quagmire of adversity and out upon the 
plain of final success, where they unfurled the banner of triumph, 
sang the chorus of victory and proclaimed to the world in clar- 
ion notes and trumpet blasts the birth of a republic and the vin- 
dication of a people's wrong. It was of this same noble Mary that 
our brave and fearless Andrew Jackson spake when laying the 
cornerstone of a monument to her memory a few years later, 
when he said: "When the American pilgrim in after ages comes 
upon this high and holy place and lays his hand upon this sacred 
column, may he recall the virtues of her who sleeps beneath, and 
depart with his affections purified, and his piety strengthened, 
while he invokes blessings upon the mother of Washington." 



[10 



The Daughters of the South. 



It was left for Martha Washington, the noble chieftain's wife, 
to furnish an example of unyielding endurance and strength to 
other wives and mothers who had husbands and sons fighting 
at the front. Day and night she toiled with her hands, knitting 
and weaving, and then dared the dangers of personally bearing 
the fruits of her labor to her husband's camp. She rejoiced 
when victory crowned his efforts, she wept when the strain of 
war left its telling furrows upon his brow. When threatening 
clouds hovered o'er him, she was the shining light that pene- 
trated the veil and reassured his hope. And yet, she was only 
one of thousands who sustained and supported the weary, wan- 
ing spirits of the continental soldiers, to whom hunger and rags 
had been a fiercer foe than all the legions of Britons. Yes, 
could we but recall and converse with the shade of the sly 
swamp fox of South Carolina — Francis Marion, he would tell us 
a wonderful tale of the courage and daring of the daughters of 
the South when his hungry, haggard band hied forth from their 
dreary fastnesses to strike terror to some Tory or British bri- 
gade. And here I would not fail to mention the gentle, generous- 
hearted Elizabeth Steele, who freely gave her whole fortune to 
General Greene with which to buy food and raiment for his 
freezing, famishing troops; nor would I forget to laud the gallant 
deed of two fair feminine knights of the saddle who, disguised 
as Rebels, intercepted a British courier and his guard and bore 
them with their bloody orders, intended for the bloodier Butcher 
Tarlton, in triumph to Gen. Greene. Rachel and Grace Martin 
are known as the "Ruth and Orpah of the South." But when the 
final triumph came no happier hearts rejoiced, no hands 
were ever more willingly set to work to help in the building of 
a nation, than those possessed by these same fair daughters of 
the South. Once more were they blessed with homes and loved 
ones; and with the united stroke of many masters' hands the 
Southland soon became a perfect picture of beauty divine, one 
vast sublime landscape, touched here and there with verdant 
pastures and fields of waiving yellow, while tall majestic moun- 
tain peaks rose in magic grandeur piercing the sky; and in the 
background the haze of forgetfulness .blended imperceptibly with 
the vanishing clouds as they sank below the horizon of the past. 
Amid peace and plenty did they dwell in this land of bountiful 
blessings. Truly could it be said of the Southern woman that 



[11] 



Musing Moments. 



"Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye, in every gesture 
dignity and love." And yet, cheerfully did she contribute her 
share m every conflict that disturbed the nation's quiet; and to 
her is due the honor for commanding the unfaltering loyalty and 
devotion of the negroes, those poor unfortunate children of the 
tropics, whom Pate had forced upon the South. And yet these 
slaves in their shackles loved her more in those "good old days" 
when "young missus" taught them the simple story of Christian 
hope than their more fortunate descendants will ever be able to 
comprehend. Such women as the cultured, yet kind-hearted Dolly 
Madison, the patient Rachel Jackson, the devoted Sarah Polk, the 
noble wife and mother Eliza Johnson, trained these unfortunate 
sons of Ham t<y reverence and devotion and pointed them to the 
God who guarded and guided their destiny and who had fixed their 
station amongst the races of mankind. And it was this training 
and this love and respect which caused the faithful old darkey to 
remain by the fireside of his master, the sole guardian of his 
home and loved ones while the master went forth to answer the 
trumpet's call which summoned him to the conflict in an effort 
to forge a saving link in the bonds that bound his servants' hands 
Did humanity ever display a sublimer heroism than when these 
worthy wives and mothers and maidens bade their husbands and 
sons, fathers and brothers unsheathe the sword or shoulder a 
musket and go forth to defend their beloved Southland, while 
they were left to hazard their lives to the mercy of a people for 
whom the conflict was being waged? Yet did they falter when 
the last youth was called away — a mere lad of sixteen years, per- 
haps — whom Pate must try in the very fires of hell, or toss into 
the yawning jaws of death? No, with the same fortitude and 
the same courage which had characterized the sacrifices and 
sufferings of their mothers, they stood the test through fire and 
.bloodshed and butchery; and when the sun dispelled the envel- 
oping shadows and the din of battle ceased, these sturdy sons 
of the South returned to find their homes destroyed, their slaves 
set free, their fortunes dissipated, but — the redeeming glory of 
all — they found that the flower of faith and virtue had endured 
the wilting blasts, and that the hearts of their wives and moth- 
ers, sweethearts and sisters still beat with a lasting hope. Their 
eyes danced greetings, while their lips uttered messages of wel- 
come and prayers of thankfulness that Providence had spared 

r 12 1 



The Daughters of the South. 



even a remnant of those who had departed. Kind, unfaltering 
hands performed the last service to the honored dead, helped 
to ply the ill-fated boat of Fortune around the whirlpool of re- 
construction, and then with renewed hearts, resumed the task 
of building again the altar that had been desecrated but not 
denied. 

How well they have succeeded requires but a glance. Today 
the South stands forth the unchallenged champion of Liberty 
and Democratic Government, the proud representative of the 
purest strain of Anglo-Saxon blood on the Western Hemisphere. 
Her daughters are the sweetest and fairest the sun shines on. 
The spirit of chrvalry yet beats in her bosom and her sons can 
not rise to action quicker than when called to defend the honor 
of her daughters. The woman of the New South still drinks 
from the same old fountains of wisdom and devotion that 
quenched the thirst of other generations, and it quickens the 
iifeblood which leaps and bounds through her veins and imparts 
the. rich glow of health and beauty to her cheek and gives the 
clear, keen luster to her eye which graciously blends with the 
smile that falls from her face as, blushing and modest, she ac- 
knowledges the reverential regard shown her. 

Nor is dear old Burritt without her bed of daisies, her bunch 
of American beauties. And we rejoice today that we are hon- 
ored with the duty of ushering into the drawing room of life one 
of Burritt's fairest representatives. 

Yet, it is with a pang of regret that we approach the parting 
of the ways. We know and we feel the worth of this, our sole 
representative; and we know, too, that the place she leaves 
vacant must remain so, for no other can fill it so well and so 

faithfully. Miss , you have been an excellent student, a 

true and trustworthy friend, a loyal and devoted Calliopean. No 
higher compliment could escape my lips. With just pride in 
your achievements here and with equal confidence in your ability 
to meet the new and more practical problems of life, do we send 
you forth to bless the world and enrich its real joys with the 
perfect purity of your presence. No worthier daughter of the 
South e'er trod her sacred soil or added more grace and worth 
and merit to her multitude of noble women. And let me add 
that, as a woman was the first to be entrusted with bearing to 
the world the message of a risen Christ, it is peculiarly befitting 



[13] 



Musing Moments. 



that we should note that a woman is to be entrusted' with bear- 
ing the message that old Burritt has cast off her garments of 
sack-cloth and ashes and that our own beloved Calliopean So- 
ciety has risen in all the glory of the past, and a single star still 
shines forth from that old banner beckoning all to find peace 
and rest in the shadow of her silken folds. 

(Here Miss rises to receive the diploma.)' 

And now as I hand this parting token to you, I falter and 
half wish somehow that it were not so. But the prize is well 
earned; we can serve you no longer; the voice of the future 
calls and you must be no longer detained. Take this diploma, 

Miss , as a feeble tribute of a beloved band, and forever 

bear in mind that the best wishes and earnest solicitation of 
each individual Calliopean follows you into the walks of life, and 
that yearning souls are left behind whom you have helped, and 
who will strive to emulate your worthy example. 

(Turning to audience.) 

And now, with a heart full of love, I turn to take leave of you, 
fellow-schoolmates and friends. We have all worked together 
in a common band. Whether or not we have done duty's bid- 
ding must be left for the future to determine. With deep regret 
am I forced to speak this parting word, but let us struggle ear- 
nestly and unceasingly for the laurel of success and our efforts 
will be crowned with a glorious consummation equal to that for 
which the heroic daughters of the South have paid the price. 

April, 1907. 



[14 



Child Epigrams. 



©MM Upagj^sismg 

If you should die with a lie on your lips, 
The devil will catch you in his clips. 

When you are about to tell a lie 
Think of when you have to die. 

When you start home from school, 
Do not stop on the road and fool. 

We should work with all our might, 
Until our souls shall take tbeir flight. 

Laziness will enter every man's door 
That will let him lie down on his floor. 

Our names are written on the pages of time, 
And we should make our lives sublime. 

If you often deceive 

You will cause your friends to grieve. 

It is easy to get into trouble, 

But hard to get out; 
Therefore we should always know 

What we're about. 

The thief of time is creeping along, 
Doing all he can that is wrong. 

Those who will hold themselves up level, 
Will never be led astray by the devil. 

April, 1.893, 



[15] 



Musing Moments. 



The proud and venerable Father Time, 
In all his grand and wondrous mien, 

My years hath numbered, and Nature's chime, 
Doth herald the age to me sixteen. 

Yes, sixteen full and happy years, 
The time that life has all its sweet, 

The time .bereft of grief and fears, 
The time that I no foe should meet. 

Oh! could I again this time enjoy, 
And play around my mother's knee; 

But once again, with naught to annoy, 

While my young heart o'erflowed with glee. 

Could I but stay the course of years, 
In which, ere long, I'll launch my bark, 

A sea of boundless flowing tears, 
A gulf bereft of youth's bright spark. 

And back into youth's paradise 

To paternal admonition list, 
Through which I learnt to hate low vice, 

And Satan's tempting wiles resist. 

Upon this bright November's day, 

As I stand upon life's broad threshold, 

I hope that God in his goodness may 
Withhold me from temptation cold. 

For me today a wreath of flowers 

May tomorrow be not a crown of thorns, 

But while I pass these golden hours, 

Let me be spared the world's cold scorns. 

Let not my loving parents' gold,* 
In vain be spent on reckless youth, 

But may they in delight behold 
In me unbounding love of truth. 



*My parents gave me a bright new gold coin for my birthday 
gift. November 4, 1901. 

[16] 



Birthday Reflections. 



NOVEMBER 4, 1903. 
(Written on a Birthday.) 

Halt, fleeting years! Why haste ye on? 
Can eighteen summers have come and gone 
Since I first say the light, and pressed, 
A new-born ba.be, my mother's breast? 

Ah! 'tis not now as once it was, 
When years like ages to me seemed — 
Those years when childhood days 
Were years themselves. 'Twas then I dreamed 
The time when I a man should be, 

Enjoying pleasures rich and rare — 
But now the sad thought comes to me, 

Those halcyon days I no longer share; 
But to stern reality and toil a slave, 
I think in vain and haste on toward the grave! 



TWENTY. 

What! No music in my soul tonight? 
Come, my Muse! Once more thy service lend! 
Come, and in thy gentle grace commend 

Thee to my heart — one simple verse indite; 
Smite with all thy gen'rous might the chord 
Which stirs my soul to act when thus demurred 
By Fate's mixed cup of good and ill. 

I stand and view with eager eye and mien 
The e'er receding sails on youth's gay tide. 
Swift tears bedim my gaze — I see them glide 

Away, each bannered bark, each hallowed 'teen. 
Alas! They're gone! O careless years sublime. 
But list! — The Siren sings — the silver chime 
Of Hope doth yet my bosom swell. 



November 4, 1905. 



Whither go ye forth, my Soul' 
What errand has thou hence; 

And why make haste to roam 
In solitude the airy main? 



[17] 



Musing Moments. 



Companions hast thou not? 

Nor ought to full requite 

Thy joy and rest and peace with me? 

Alas! Too empty hangs the bowl 
I know, in there from whence 

Thou came — no longer home, 
Where regal hope did proudly reign 
Which ne'er can be forgot. 
So yonder wing thy flight 
And bear my message safe with thee. 



November 4, 1906. 



Man — man — What is he? — has he been 

Time's tool and toy tost to and fro, 

Plaything of all the winds tnat blow — 

Clay-wrought and weak, which makes the whole world kin. 

He lives, he longs, he langhts, he cries>, 

He works, he wins, he wanes, he dies — 

Earth takes him back but one more breathless clod. 

But hark! What voice, what music meets my ear? 

What varied medley stirs my soul? 

What vision do my eyes behold 

Which robs this dire reflection of all fear? 

The voice cries, Hail! Life's worth the living; 

Behold the world rich joys giving — 

Thine eyes look on the handiwork of God. 

II. 

I yield my fancy to this strong appeal, 

With eager courage turn and listen, 

And wonder, as I see life glisten 

Gladly, grandly, what doth gently steal 

Into my soul, there to impart 

A thrill of feeling to my heart, 

Unlike the evil load which weighed it down. 

And then about my presence loomed the light 

Of former years, now twenty-two, 

And 'cross their firmament there flew 



[18 



Birthday Reflections. 



My guardian angel's form — most blessed sprite! 
My soul was rapt — she waved her wand, 
The Future closed, and benign her hand 
Placed on my brow the Present's sovereign crown. 



November 4, 1907. 



Doubt thee, sweet Angel, Guardian of my cares? 

Doth fagging faith seem recreant in my breast; 
Doth faltering Hope steal o'er me unawares, 

Or joy of spirit lack in zeal or zest? 
No! I pause, perhaps, and like a child, 

Look up to be more certain that thy palm 
Rests o'er me as I wander through the wild, 

And guides my steps in paths of peace and calm. 
I know that I shall ne'er forsaken be 

If truth and courage guard ambition's fires. 
For this dear sprite, "my faith looks up to thee," 

And thanks thee that thy patience never tires. 
While three-and-twenty years have by me crept, 

A ceaseless vigil hast thou o'er me kept. 

November 4, 1908. 



Again, my comrade, never-failing Fate, 

I grasp thy hand on Life's eventful shore — 

A boon for four-and-twenty years, or more, 

Of mine — a constant privilege to greet 

An ever-watchful eye, a guard, indeed — 

A friend I've reckoned thee in hours of need, 

And met thee face to face from day to day. 

Indulgent thou hast been, I must agree, 

Though careful hast thou writ on Duty's scroll 

Each thought, or calm or tempest of my soul — 

On which must rest thy last but sure decree. 

My deeds are mine, and I approach thy throne, 

In doubt, perhaps, but boldly and alone, 

To wait thy judgment, Hope's last glimmering ray. 

November 4, 1909. 



[19] 



Musing Moments. 



What's this! A bill for five-and-twenty years — past due? 

Let's see — five-and-twenty years of time I've spent; 

So this was not my time? I see, 'twas only lent, 

Or placed in trust with me — O, yes, I take the cue! 

'Twas but a lease, for which I might account the rent 

In deeds of worth, or merit shown. Alas! how few 

The credits are in deeds well done, or even dared. 

A Century's fourth has passed, a Century's fourth of play- 

And now, O God, to Thee beseechingly I pray, 

Forgive the empty years, and let Thy grace be, spared — 

Renew the lease, and grant still yet another day 

For real service ere Thy judgment be declared! 



'Twas heard! She comes! The fairest, purest of all the land, 
To guide, to guard, to cheer me with her sustaining hand. 



November 4, 1910. 



Twenty-seven years on the billowy deep 
Of Life's good and evil hath my soul been adrift, 

Lab'ring and losing, till my heart could but weep — 
Working and winning now, as the struggle would shift. 

Varying oft-times the battle would be 

While fate and fortune were with or 'gainst me. 

But I am just one of Fate's countless toys — 
I am but one who with earth's pains and joys 

Must contend through the years, long or short, as may be. 
I am lost in the ebb and the flow of the tide, 

When the millions of my kind, like the sands of the sea, 
As numberless and vast as life's ocean is wide, 

In common combat contend till eternity's shore 
Is brought to the vision of each soul as it strives 

For the goal of reward that will stay ever more, 
And the rest which they restlessly sought all their lives. 

Should I lose in the struggle (though I'll keep up the fight), 
I'm but one of earth's creatures whom the world will not mourn 

Should I win, what's the winning — individual respite, 

When the victory's measured by earth's balance of scorn. 

[20] 



Birthday Reflections. 



Whether winning or losing, with small praise are we blest; 

Insignificant is each in the multitude vast 
Of our world's helpless creatures — North, South, East and West. 

With the tide, all are tossed, some first and some last. 

But stay, O my soul Cease now thy musing, 
For in Heaven there dwells One who notes e'en the fall 

Of the sparrow; and let not thy plight find excusing, 
But rather give heed to God's holy call. 

In the hollow of His hand will he hold and help thee, 

In the goodness of His grace will he guard and keep thee, 

If duty be thy path, however humble; 

Nor will he permit thy steps to stumble. 



November 4, 1912. 



For half a score of years or more 
My Muse hath wrapt my soul in song 
To celebrate my natal date, 
November four. 

And as I sang, my rythm rang 
Sometimes in anthems calm and clear 
At duty done and victory won. 
O blessed day! 

And sometimes rhyme would fill the time, 
And days of laughing levity; 
Forth would I steal and so reveal 
A simple soul. 

Yes, sometimes 'round the verses wound 
A chord of sweetest melody, 
Rich and rare, free from care. 
O glorious fate! 

But sometimes, too, the day was blue 
And the song was frought with fear. 
No path past o'er, the steps before, 
God guide my feet. 



[21] 



Musing Moments. 



Sometimes, my heart would feel the dart 
Of disappointment pierce it through; 
And faint and weary, in dark and dreary, 
Seclusion sink. 

Today the ills of sadness fills, 
My soul o'erwhelmed and groping 
For the light of love that comes from above. 
O Heavenly boon! 

Come! Come! O my Muse! and soothe and suffuse 
With joy my soul in travail beseeching. 
Return with the years, but not with the tears. 
O natal day! 

November 4, 1913. 




[22 



Miscellaneous. 



autumn. 

Hark! Listen to fair Autumn, who 
Has donned herself in robes of scarlet 
And hues as various as proud Nature's 
Art could devise. Now the joyous notes 
Of bird-song give vent to noisy rustle 
Of leaves, while Nature prepares to 
Unroibe herself for her winter's sleep, 
When Heaven itself hovers closely o'er 
And spreads her crystalline mantle 
For protection to earth and her many 
And marvelous God-given beauties. 
Now the happy summer songster ceases 
His merriment, and together with 
His sagacious mate prepares to hibernate. 
Now the shrewd squirrel no longer chatters 
Among the branches of his lofty tree-house 
Or quarrels and frolics with his merry mates, 
But is busy gath'ring and laying up stores 
For sustenance through long wintry days. 
Now the giant oak spreads his bare arms 
To Heaven; the tall, majestic pine 
Is seen to reel and rock before 
The mighty gust of Autumn's wind, 
Whose sad song sounds so heavily 
On the ears of slumbering beings when 
Gloomy Night has donned her velvet cloak. 
The tall persimmon groans with its 
Great burden of glad and merry opossum 
Grinning over a feast of lucious fruit. 
The sprightly hare seeks some safe shelter 
Among the shelving rocks of Nature's 
Tow'ring bluffs, or takes sweet refuge 
In the fallen body of some king of forest. 
The whirring partridge gathers his 
Speckled brood together in their abode 
Among grassy plots, or in fields of rye; 



[23] 



Musing Moments. 



The rambling swine prepares his bed 

From the fallen robes that decked fair Summer's 

Entrancing charms and beauties rare. 

The fearless eagle withholds his great 

And lofty soaring. With earth he's content. 

The busy ant completes its task 

And enters its earthy dwelling to feast 

On the abundant stores of its summer's toil. 

The happy farmer bundles together 

The silver blades, and plucks with joy 

The golden ears of corn to fill 

His capacious barn, and then exults 

Upon the abundance of his crops. 

He may then enjoy the sweet comforts of 

His small farmhouse o'er which he's lord 

And ruler. He sits by the glowing hearth 

While list'ning to the merry frolic 

Of unmindful, mischievous children, 

And enjoys the smiles of his shrewd companion. 

The Sun, in his majestic brightness, 

With pleasant, splendent smiles doth greet 

Us when fair morning rouses the stars 

That silver the purple tent of dewy night, 

And lovingly smiles a fond good-day 

As he fades from view at eventide. 

All Nature prepares for winter's chill 

And plainly to all men doth tell 

That God is King of earth and Heaven 

And strives to make all blessings even. 



APRIL THIRTIETH. 

(Written on the birthday anniversary of a friend.) 

Blessed day! Oh, blessed day! 

Entrancing in thy very mien, 
Await! Flit not! Flee not away, 

Till all thy glory hath been seen. 



[24 



Miscellaneous. 



Ring forth, ye notes of joyous song, 
In jubilant strains of music praise, 

Crown her fair Queen among 
Endearing Nature's gala-days. 

May many years bring peace and joy, 
And health and happiness supreme, 

Instead of gloom, Life's cold alloy, 
Enwrap her soul as 'twere a dream. 

Could I possess the poet's art, 

Or even pen one fitting line, 
Contributing a feeble part 

Kindly lent by a power benign 
Rising from the sacred shrine 

Of love and sweet remembrance; 
For her I'd write a verse sublime, 

To her fair name, a mete semblance. 



April 30, 1903. 



CHRISTMAS GREETING TO A FRIEND. 

Kings, princes, emperors, earth's sovereigns great and small, 

Around the banquet board assemble one and all 

To glorify and praise the name of one whose birth 

Hath hallowed this a day of consecrated mirth; 

Even too within the peasant's humble cot, 

Revelling rings the voice of each wee tot 

Yielding richest praise as permits his humble lot — 

'Neath Heaven's canopy, from Christendom's utmost bounds, 

Elated everyone; the earth with joy resounds. 

Joy supreme would crown thy every hope, dear friend, 
Every day thou liv'st a holiday would be, 

And every hour a bright new blessing send; 
No care, no pain, could I but will it thee. 

December 25, 1903. 

[25] 



Musing Moments. 



(Upon presenting a small gold star, the emblem of the Calliopean 
Literary Society of Burritt College, to a friend.) 

Blessed is thy light which gleams, 
Exiled, from such a firmament 
As Fate hath chanced to thee, my Star — 
Too rich for earth and mortal eyes. 
Rare universe of smiles and dreams, 
In which seraphic charms are spent, 
Confines thy modest rays; and here 
Enveloped all thy glory lies. 



(Written upon receipt of a beautiful rose from a friend.) 

Most lovely Rose! Thou emblem pure and sweet 
Of Love, of Joy, of blest Prosperity — 
Thou symbol of a friend's sincerity, 

I gladly thee and thy rich blushes greet. 

How blest has been thy Fate, and yet how mean; 
First plucked to grace a Fairy's queenly crown, 
While now to this unworthy hand cast down 

Thy crimson flush betrays an anguish keen. 

Yet, still the queen of flowers wilt thou reign, 

Though Fate must ne'er permit thee 'gain to flourish 
In thy most envied place, yet will I cherish 

The more thy sovereignty — my present gain. 



(Written to my mother.) 

With joy I greet thee, mother dear, 
And love, on this thy bright birthday! 

How much I wish I were anear 
That from thy beaming face a ray 

Of tender love might pierce my heart, 
And quicken once again my childhood dreams 



[26 J 



Miscellaneous. 



Which life can never more impart! 

I would 1 could but press one kiss 
On thy soft, rosy lips this day — 

Regale thy thirsting soul in bliss, 
While fond caresses o'er me play. 

May many more birthdays be thine; 
May many a sun in glory shed its beams 

On thee to match thy grace benign. 

February 27, 1905. 



(Upon receipt of a box of candy from a friend, now my wife, 
when convalescing from a spell of illness. It might 
be appropriately entitled, "The Be- 
ginning of the End.") 

My Dear Miss W.: 

Tell me, can tongue or pen, can word or deed 

Portray the gratitude to thee 
I feel for thy SWEET gift— an ample meed 

To soothe the sorrow of a soul like me? 

Enduring friendship! Ah, most blessed boon, 
Which earth's with Heaven's joys blends; 

Time runs its blissful course too swift, too soon — 
Poor mortal he who has no friends. 

April 28, 1905. 



TO A ROSEBUD. 

(Received from a dear friend.) 

Sweet, fair, fragrant flower, 
Cull'd from out thy bower 
Of budding beauty. 

Whence comes all thy fragrance? 
Through what simple vagrance 
Chanst thou hither? 

[27] 



Musing Moments. 



Thou dost tell a story 
In thy crimson glory 
Of thy origin. 

Closed within thy clay 
Lies a thousand relics 
Of angel kisses; 

Buried neath thy petals 
Love's sweet life-glow battles 
For revelation. 

Oh! thou sweet love symbol! 
Watch the light-rays gambol 
In gay flirtation! 

Bid them come yet nearer — 
Make their voices clearer 
In their love song. 

Now I see thee open 
In full bloom, a token 
Of thy rapture. 

Oh! what richness dwells there! 
Purest love instills here 
Its glad exotic. 

Now thy blushes wily 
Steal forth gently, shyly 
From thy pure bosom. 

Toss thy head — it pleases 
All the passing breezes 
To waft thy fragrance. 

Let thy perfume scatter, 
Love knows it's no matter 
In what profusion. 



[28 1 



Miscellaneous. 



Drink night's dewy shower, 
Love's most perfect flower; 
Thy health replenish. 

Shall I stop to name thee? 

Dare not I to blame thee, 

My blushing ROSEBUD. 



May 2, 1905. 



(Written upon receipt of a beautiful bouquet while at St. Thomas 
Hospital, following quite a serious operation.) 

I bid thee welcome, gentle guests, 

Thy whole gay company I gladly greet; 

Within each fragrant blossom rests 

A soul of grace, tender, calm and sweet. 

What! Another soul encompass thee? 

Ah, vainly doth thou try thy boon conceal; 
Thy emerald cloaks would hide from me 

The "Beauty" crimson blushes do reveal. 

Each tinted petal wears a smile, 

Each leaf of fern doth waft a kiss most rare; 

— But, tarry all with me awhile, 

For gift without the giver's always bare. 

July 18, 1908. 



(To B.W\ upon receipt of a birthday gift in the shape of a 
pair of handsome house shoes of bright ver- 
milion, hand knit.) 

You've heard, I'm sure, of the "Scarlet Letter", 

And all the things that good old Hawthorne wrote; 

Of this and that and things far better, 
Done here and there and corners more remote. 

r 29 1 



Musing Moments. 



But I've a story which I must tell, 

Matters not what other folks have done or said, 
Though it knock old Sherlock Holmes pell-mell 

From his "Study in Scarlet" to that of mine in Red. 

It's a study, too, profound and deep, 

It would, I know, a Ph.D. perplex — 
Or cause a Chinese stiff to weep, 

A Billikin his awry smile to vex. 

My study deals with a girl and boy — 

Not lad and lass, nor youth and maid — not that, 

Nor "kid" nor "kiddo" — well, don't annoy 

Your brain with details of what I'm getting at. 

Just a boy and girl, as I have said, 

(No better chums the soil of earth e'er trod) 

Naught more makes up my "Study in Red", 

Except the soles with which his feet were shod. 

Poor Mercury! A tear I shed 

For thee — pray look not thou with baneful eye 
On me. Well know I how thou sped 

With winged heels and soles. (Well dost thou sigh.) 

No longer canst thou keep thy speed 

To fetch a message 'tween fair maid and swain. 

But lo! console thyself and heed 

The truth that thy great loss is another's gain. 

For list! This girl of whom I spake 
Betook herself a blood-red yarn to knit 

For her boy's sole and selfish sake — 

Thy wings art dipt — this boy in Red is "It". 

November 4, 1909. 



r so] 



Miscellaneous. 



THANKSGIVING. 

Awake, Columbia! Pair Queen, arise! 

Aurora, smiling, peers o'er the Eastern hills; 

And from her glorious face there gently steals 

A radiant gleam of gladness 'cross the skies. 

Majestic'ly sublime she doth appear 

As from the azure deep she draws anear, 

With joy to greet thee. Hark! What doth she say? 

Hail, -blessed Queen of a rich and fruitful realm! 

Behold! The smile of Heaven o'er thee reigns; 

Nor lack of bounteous increase yet remains 

To mar thy praise of Him who guides the helm 

Of tny fair Ship of State. Arise, extol! 

For God himself has signed the protocol, 

That this shall be thy glad Thanksgiving Day. 

November 24, 1904. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Christmas-tide! O happy, holy hours — not days — 
Hours, indeed, too fleet of foot, too swift of wing, 
Rising from that ether clime where gladly sing 
Tmmanuel's choir in chorus fraught with notes which bring 
Sweet "Peace on earth, good will tow'rd men" in magic lays! 
Triumphant swells each human heart in jubilant glee ; 
Myriad are Love's tokens on Love's altar free; 
And many hearts of sorrow melt in jubilee, 
Soothed from sadness by kind deeds that live always. 

1905. 



THOUGHT. 

A Thought! What is a thought? Yes, whence and where and 

why? 
Whence doth it issue; cans't thou tell, O Sage of Years? 
Where finds it yet repose, O Poet of Joys and Fears? 
Why doth it come and go, Philosophers and Seers? 

[31] 



Musing Moments. 



This puzzle we commit. Be quick! Assay to speak. 

Ah, doth it come to man alone, or creatures all; 

And doth it fill alike their souls with milk or gall? 

What is its mission? Pray, what doth it save or seek? 

If but to Man alone, why doth it him befall? 

To tax his nature's best — Creation's climax weak? 

First, Hoary Wisdom speaks: "Thought issues from the brain, 

Begotten by the heart". The Bard: "Thought doth gain 

At last Elysian bliss, or's lost in Stygian pain." 

Then Calm Philosophy: "This Thought — There is no Way!" 



January 30, 1906. 



ON THE BURNING OF BURRITT COLLEGE, MY 
ALMA MATER. 

Time! Fate! Doubt who may their power! 
Alas! But cringe thou wilt in Time's dark hour, 
And yield thou must when Fate's swift hand doth low'r 
With vials of wrath — destruction — clinched to pour 
Upon thy head in silent, quick succession; 
Nor doth he pause till low on earth thou'rt laid 
A victim, spoil until his glutton fury's staid. 
Oh, Time! Oh, Fate. Why serve this bitter bowl 
Of sorrow, anguish, tears to every soul! 
So fondly bent to' love our Burritt's cowl 
Now torn and seared in sacrilege too foul 
To be condoned in words of mean expression! 
Thus doth my troubled, heart-sick spirit burn 
And sadly sigh o'er Burritt's trammeled urn. 



ON THE REBUILDING OF THE SAME. 

Time! Fate! Doubt who may their power. 
Exult! Rejoice thou wilt in Time's glad hour; 

[32] 



Miscellaneous. 



And calmly yield thou must when Fate doth low'r 

His hand witn vials of grace to gently pour 

Upon thy head in peaceful, sure succession. 

Nor doth he pause until on high thou'rt raised 

A monumental glory on his altar praised. 

Oh, Time! Oh, Fate! Com'st thou to serve this bowl 

Of overflowing richness to each soul? 

Renewest thou the fondly cherished cowl 

To dear old Burritt's brow, with hands not foul — 

A thing to me too deep for mete expression? 

Thus doth my joyous dreaming spirit burn, 

Then I rush to Burritt's gay, replenished urn. 



March 28, 1906. 




33 



Musing Moments. 



Dame Nature's sounds, how grand they are 
In Summer's joy and Winter's blast. 

In glorious Spring and Autumn fair, 
In seasons all from first to last. 

Each season has its singular mood, 
Each has its own great wonders rare; 

It seems that o'er each one is stood 
A ruler who presides with care. 

O'er his respective beauteous realm, 
When time to each doth come in turn, 

And with careful nerve to guide the helm 
Lest Heaven should his labors spurn. 

Gay Spring is welcomed everywhere 
With his refreshing breeze and showers, 

As he clothes old earth from Winter bare 
With emerald robes and smiling flowers. 

The violets blue then gaily peep 

Like Heaven's blushes fresh from God, 

And winding woodbine 'gins to creep 
And lady slippers their heads to nod. 

There's dandelions beside the brook, 
There's buttercups amidst the glade, 

There's honeysuckles in every nook, 
In fact, the earth with gems is laid. 

Beside these fragrant angel smiles, 
With glorious bird-song all's aglee; 

It seems that fresh from God there files 
Ten thousand merry songsters free. 

The sun in wondrous splendor shines 

From his celestial orb afar; 
Aurora calmly o'er earth reclines 

With breath afresh with dewy air. 



[34 J 



Nature. 



The squirrel in merriment gaily leaps 
From bough to bough in his leafy home! 

The bee the blossoming bower sweeps, 
And rambling swine o'er hills doth roam. 

The happy farmer gladly speeds 
With horse and plow the land to shape, 

And then rejoicing sows the seeds 
In hopes he will abundance reap. 

And now from every field there springs 

A coat as 'twere, of emerald hue; 
At dawn the plowman's voice loud rings 

As he goes to work through morning dew. 

The swollen streams rush madly on 
Down mountain sides and through the dale; 

Their pearly ripples are here and gone 
To the clamorous sea to tell their tale. 

The May Queen's crowned with a gorgeous wreath 
Of fragrant flowers from off the dell, 

On each is blown sweet angels' breath 
When they as smiles from Heaven fell. 

The lowing kine in meadows green 
With pleasure bite the growing grass; 

The sprightly lamb is gamboling seen 
As amidst the flock we see. him pass. 

The cooing of the gentle dove, 
As he meekly woos his feathered mate, 

Is scarcely blended with warmer love 
Than when glad Spring does all elate. 

Ecstatic rapture doth entwine 

The hearts of all in joyous Spring, 
For his great Ruler stops to dine 

With every peasant, lord and king. 



[35 



Musing Moments. 



And finally, when his joy hath ceased, 
Sweet Summer, like a Fairy Queen 

Comes donned in robes as to a feast — 
Soul-thrilling in her courtly mien. 

She gives new feeling to the world, 
She animates the very flowers; 

And as her banner is unfurled 
The hope of all to Heaven towers. 

Fair lovers linger neath the shade 

Of some gigantic forest tree, 
While whispering tales of love inlaid 

With feelings of devotion free. 

They wander o'er the grassy hill, 

Or through the verdant meadow sweet, 

By peaceful streams which gently steal 
In seeming laughter at their feet. 

And myriad birds to them doth sing, 
Their souls enraptured in love's story; 

The flowers along their path doth fling 
Sweet fragrance to them wrapt in glory. 

And while sly Cupid's harmless darts 
Them to each other closer bind, 

Sweet Summer's king instills their hearts 
With purest love and graces kind. 

While gentle zephyrs fan their cheeks, 
All stamped with love's exuberant kisses, 

As if at once he happily seeks 

To seal in rapture all their blisses. 

Sweet Summer comes imparting joy, 
And hope alike to young and old, 

While teaching all their skill employ 
To lay up goods for winter's cold 



[36 



Nature. 



The farmer goes forth with his reaper 

To mow the fields of golden grain, 
To glean the profits of his labor 

For which he toiled in sun and rain. 

Sweet Summer's exit all doth fill 

With a sort of half heart-broken sigh, 

For then 'tis known that Winter's chill 
Ere long will sever each sweet tie. 

That ibinds old earth to pleasant dreams, 

Refreshing joy and kindly mirth; 
Still Autumn rich with beauty teems 

And gives a lovely tone to earth. 

She comes in robes of beauty donned, 
In pink and yellow, green and brown; 

Soul-thrilling in her manner fond 
As if from Heaven she hath flown. 

An artist, through her wondrous skill 
She touches earth with her tinted brush, 

Imprinting a picture which doth fill 
Old earth with rich and glorious flush. 

An able servant is named Jack Frost 
Who promptly heeds his mistress' call; 

His frozen gems of dew are tossed, 
Imparting beauty wher'er they fall. 

He comes in the still and silent night, 
While the stars are glittering in seeming glee. 

And the Autumn moon full-orbed and bright 
Laughingly watches, but flees to the sea. 

When morning's sun doth clear away 
The shadows with his flood of light, 

Revealing a glorious change in array 

Which Nature donned through Autumn's might. 



37] 



Musing Moments. 



The giant oak is in scarlet dressed, 
The towering maple an orange hue; 

The evergreen alone is blessed 
With guise to Spring and Summer true. 

The Summer rose doth lose its breath 
When Autumn's king the scepter wields; 

But all in turn must meet its death, 
In shiftless ease or labor's fields. 

The flower's death is but a sleep 
Which wakes again to brighter bloom, 

For Autumn with a kindness deep 
Preserves it from a greater doom. 

Sweet Summer's fields of waving corn 
Are ripened through fair Autumn's care, 

The golden ears may then be borne 
In triumpn safe from Winter's flare. 

Yes, Autumn's king — how sweet the thought, 
For prince and pauper doth prepare 

The cup of peace and plenty sought, 
Through love and labor, full of care. 

And when gray winter, chill and bleak, 
Puts on the crystal robe of power, 

All Nature wrapt in white doth seek 

Repose when dreams enshroud each hour. 

But after all old Winter's king, 

Possesses virtues great and grand; 

And vigor he doth always bring, 
And peace and quiet in his hand. 

Then peak and cliff and hill and vale 
Are wrapt in crystal robes of snow; 

And Nature's clad in his coat of mail 

From the heights above to the plains below. 



38] 



Nature. 



Though winter has his chill and cold, 
No greater stores of joy abound, 

In all of Nature's grandeur bold, 

From Spring's glad lay to Autumn's sound. 

Oh! could earth make a wiser choice 
Of blessings rich than now are given, 

Let every creature loud rejoice 

And shout his praises back to Heaven. 



November, 1901. 




| 30] 



Musing Moments. 



(Read at Burritt College.) 
(Scene: A mountain in Mexico.) 

Ah! Alone and in solitude — 

Yet, I am not alone, 

For there is One in whom 

The whole vast universe 

Has infinite companionship; 

And these huge crags and peaks, 

Jb'rom Nature's touch most beautiful, 

'Twould seem should sweetly render 

Solitude itself not solitary. 

Yet, why doth it not me, 

A fugitive from justice, 

A wretch for whom it would 

The fitter be by far 

The gloomy haunts of bats 

And owls and divers other 

Wierd creatures — spirits dire — 

To be infested by 

My accursed guilty presence; 

But hold, avengeful passion! 

A stranger I perceive 

Is journeying this way — 

A hunter most perhaps, 

And fresh companion to my woe. 

Could I but chase the sinful 

Burden of my conscience 

From his impregnable lair 

As this one man doth chase 

The fleet-foot antelope 

From his rock-bound fastnesses, 

No happier mortal lived. 

Alas! He descries me — he speaks 
And asks why I am here. 
Ah, Stranger, why ask you that? 
To inflame a deeper torture 



40 



Monologue — Diegro. 



Within my anguished breast — 

To forge the lasting link 

To my eternal doom? 

I would not answer you, 

But, alas! there's something that 

Deeply in my soul 

Doth bid me to relate 

My dark and fateful story. 

Ah, listen, stranger! Listen! 

I now must speak it — now — 

Oh, Heaven! That I might 

Withhold my tongue from utt'rance! 

Yet, it will speak to Fate 

Obedient, and tell 

That which must be spoken. 

I am Jose Diegro, 
From far-off Spain I hail — 
A more accursed wretch 
Ne'er disgraced so fair a land. 
I was blessed with noble blood; 
No kinder, gentler parents 
E'er breathed Iberia's atmosphere. 
Twas there I learned while young, 
A glad, free-hearted youth, 
To love a maiden fair, 
She, too, of noble lineage. 
I loved her — did I love her? 
Aye, to maddest desperation. 
Little dreamed I then 
The harvest to be gathered 
In the future days to come 
From my innocently sowing- 
Sweet love's uncertain seed! 

Oh, Veronna! dear Veronna! 
How could you, yes, how could you 
Have broken — blighted — doomed 
A heart that beat for you, 
And cast into oblivion's gloom 
My burning love for you? 

Pardon, stranger, my emotion, 



[41] 



Musing Moments. 



For I stifle to recall 
Those happy youthful hours 
I spent alone with her 
In fond anticipation, 
But to perceive in these, 
My sorest hours of trial 
Their dreadful counterpart. 
In dear old Spain, we two, 
Under the same blue sky, 
Yea, almost, I should say, 
Under the same roof 
Were born and reared together, 
I scarcely a month her senior. 
Around the same glad hearths 
We often listened to 
Our dear fond mother's voices 
As they rehearsed to us, 
In childish innocence 
Attentive, some story filled 
With startling deeds of romance, 
Of chivalrous Knights and Heroines- 
Lovers who dared to do 
Or die for Love's own sake; 
Or entertained us with 
Some myth or Fairy tale, 
How men were borne away 
In ancient days to realms 
Celestial to partake 
Of the myriad joys of Fairy Land, 
Or victims of their dire displeasure, 
And how the allwise gods 
Of Hellas and of Rome 
In their almighty hands 
Held fast the sword of Destiny 
And meted to man his fate; 
They told how hearts and lives 
Of gentle lovers, into 
One heart, one life, one joy, 
They fixed and bound together, 
Or severed through their will 



42 



Monologue — Diegro. 



And cast apart forever more. 

And as we romped and played 

On meadows green, or hand 

In hand strolled o'er the hills 

And through the woods alive 

With glad'ning notes of song — 

The warble of the brown-winged thrush, 

Or the morning anthem of 

The merry lark — to which 

Our joy gave vent 

In soft, melodious echoes 

From our glad and cheerful hearts 

In strains of childish song, 

We imbibed the spirit of 

Nature rich and beautiful, 

Quaffed to our Soul's content 

The nectar of youthful bliss, 

And drank to our heart's o'erflow 

Prom Love's regaling fountain. 

And as we used to chase 

The light-winged butterfly 

From flower to flower, from leaf 

To leaf, so did I chase 

The fleet-winged phantom — Hope, 

To the verge of desperation, 

Ne'er pausing at the brink 

To behold the utter chaos 

And woeful desolation 

One maddening leap would bring 

Me to, to suffer 

Eternal rack of conscience, 

The certain knowledge of 

My everlasting doom. 

I ne'er bethought me 

When in other days, 

We plucked the blushing rose, 

That 'neath the tinted petals 

Were thorns to prick our hands. 

Ah! now it seems to me 
These thorns were but to warn 



[43 



Musing Moments. 



Us — no, 'twere better said 

To warn but me alone — 

Yet, indeed, 'twas both of us, 

For after having sipped 

The soothing beverage 

Of hope and joy, we drained 

The cup to the pois'nous dregs 

Of woe and disappointment; 

And Jove to me is indeed 

A cloak which hides the thorns 

On the Tree of Life to mock 

Mankind's infirmity; 

Like the rose, it vanishes 

And leaves him to bewail, 

Till death steals in and robs 

Him of his anguish but 

To load him through eternity 

With a deeper fit of conscience. 

Good stranger, why look you thus 

At me? Think you I'm mad? 

Have you divined my secret? 

You surely can not be 

An officer of the law 

To so early trace me hither? 

No, that you can not be; 

E'en a dog would refuse 

To trail a grov'lmg piece 

Of clay like me to this 

Fair spot in Nature's Paradise. 

Yes, a devil would disdain 

The thought" of coming here 

Where I have dared to come — 

Good stranger, pardon my confusion, 
For here I must relate 
That part of my dark story 
Where 'twould be easy more by far 
For me to die than tell it. 

But to some hidden power 
Obedient, I will proceed. 
At sixteen years of age 



[44 



Monologue — Diegro. 



They sent Veronna to 

The Capital, Madrid, 

To gain a better vantage 

That would befit her rank 

And standing most. While here, 

She met with many wealthy Dons 

And royal dignitaries, 

All which contrived 

To estrange her from the home 

And loved ones of her youth, 

And, as I thought, 

Forgot the one who spent 

So many happy hours 

With her, whose life became 

A part of hers, and whose 

Whole being came to be 

A consuming thought of her — 

That one who lived for her, 

And only her was no 

One else than Diegro. 

But alas: she forgot, 

Among the many Senors 

With whom she chanced 

To become acquainted was 

One in whose veins did course 

The blood of proud nobility, 

The only son of a nobleman, 

Possessed of wealth untold, 

The son of Senor Don Morez, 

Which name you know full well, 

For in his realm he owned 

A vast estate with its 

Rich mines and haciendas. 

Her wondrous beauty charmed him- 
He loved her, wooed her, won her. 
His wealth, his pride, his love 
Quite overcame her — yes, 
And warmest love was soon returned. 
All former ties she severed, 
All former plights she broke, 



[45 1 



Musing Moments. 



All former vows she loosed. 

In something like two years 

The noble Senor breathed his last, 

And his fortune passed to this 

Proud son, now Senor Don Morez. 

'Twas then my sweet Veronna 

Became his pledged affiance. 

They married — stranger, I 

Do stifle to recall it. 

When news was brought to me 

Concerning them, I well 

Remember how I raved 

And tore my hair and swore 

Eternal vengeance; how 

I swooned in my vain fit 

Of woe and desperation. 

My fondest hopes had fled 

My life was sorely tortured; 

I had sipped the bitter gall 

Of disappointment. 

I had but one more thing to do — 

To execute my task — 

My mission of revenge. 

My soul was crushed — 

My frenzied brain refused 

To ask a sweeter vengeance 

Than the dreadful one of death. 

That vengeance has been reeked, 

My long sought mission's now 

Performed, the end 1 now await. 

I sought in various ways 

To deal the blow while they 

Were yet their nuptial honors 

Merrily celebrating; 

My plans were thwarted, 

But my mind w T as fixed — 

The thought of home and Heaven 

Moved not my hardened heart. 

All trust in human kind 

Was lost to me forever. 



[46] 



Monologue — Diegro. 



New plans were formed, 

New efforts proved in vain. 

At last I heard with joy 

That they were soon to sail 

To make their home in Mexico. 

I learned the boat on which 

They had secured passage, 

I, too, went on the ship. 

At last we sailed, but I, 

Instead of being full 

Of courage as I'd wished, 

My heart in terror shrank 

From the dreadful deed my mind 

Had contemplated and 

Half melted with fear beneath 

The gaze of my beloved. 

She seemed to divine in me 

Some lurking demon of crime 

And made me almost think 

She apprehended my designs. 

When near the shores of Mexico 

I sought one more attempt 

To strike the fatal blow, 

But when the time was ripe 

I cowered like a cur 

And let the chance go by. 

Oh, cursed man! Thou wretch! 

Thou weak and groveling worm! 

Created to think, but with 

An instinctive dread of thy thoughts. 

I could not strike her down, 
So beautiful, so fair, so lovely — 
The happy bride of a happy man, 
And ne'er could she be mine! 
I let them go unharmed 
But to curse my lot 
In my after-musing. 

I again determined to 
Execute the object of 
My accursed mission hither. 



[47] 



Musing Moments. 



Again I laid my plans. 

Two years ago we first 

Set foot on this fair land. 

A thousand plans I studied, 

A thousand plans proved vain. 

At last I heard that he, 

The princely Don Morez, 

Was absent from his palace 

In the city of Mexico 

To review his vast estate. 

I saw my time had come. 

She was the object of my revenge, 

Like a prowling cur, I stole 
Into the house and crept 
Into a closet until night, 
For night is a fit symbol 
Of gloomy crime and its 
Ignoble executors. 
And after she'd retired, 
I came from my hidding place, 
Ignited a torch, and with 
The aspect of a fiend — 
With the laugh and jeer and jibe 
Of a maniac, lifted up 
My glittering blade that soon 
Must fall and do its worst. 
I recalled our gladsome days, 
Rehearsed my tale of woe, 
Of love long lost and thirst 
For vengeance. She implored 
Me in the Virgin's name 
To spare, forgive and save her 
And her innocent babe, 
But to no avail. Oh, God! 
I behold her now, her babe . 
In her arms, beseeching me 
To quit my torturing threats, 
But I, with the spirit of Hell 
Itself with me, stood 
A dumb, immovable ghost 



[48] 



Monologue — Diegro. 



Of death, a demon — I struck 

The trembling dagger through 

Her breast. A wail, a groan 

Was heard and all was still. 

The babe, the image of 

Verorma looked at me 

And smiled. Oh, God! I would 

I'd never saw the light! 

Again my blade went up 

To spill the blood of innocence, 

Aye, as pure as was shed 

On tragic Calvary's height. 

E'en in the bud this flower 

Was cut from earth but to 

"Return to God who gave it." 

I saw my deed of carnage 

And shrank from human presence. 

I fled the house in haste. 

My poinard still is wet 

With human blood — not all 

My soul is steeped in hell. 

Ah, stranger, the end is near — 

Look! I see her — Oh, Veronna! 

How fair, how lovely, how divine! 

Behold that wonted smile! 

Oh, God! am I forgiven? 

No, I can not be; 

I feel the flames of Hell 

Hot and sulphury twine 

About me now. 

That smile would pierce my heart, 

But for this faithful blade — (stabs himself) 

Accursed steel, thy work is done — 

Veronna, love, thou art avenged. 



October, 1902. 



[49] 



Musing Moments. 



The question of imperialism, which is agitating the two great 
political parties of this country has led me, in my fedble manner, 
to say something on the following subject: 

What the mission of the American arms was as compared with 
what it is? 

On the one hand, during the revolutionary struggle of the 
thirteen colonies, against that proud and potent giant of nations, 
Great Britain, caused by her trampling upon the rights and privi- 
leges of those small and almost helpless dependences, and urged 
on by the patriotic speeches of Patrick Henry and others, her 
little, yet valiant armies, commanded by a Putnam, a Wayne, or 
a Washington on the North; and by a Marion, a Sumpter, or a 
Lee in the South, arose against fearful odds, both local and for- 
eign, and cast off the yoke of oppression and tyranny and put on 
the golden necklace of liberty, justice and right. 

When France became involved in a foreign war, and tried to 
force the young American republic to aid her, in recompense for 
France's aid in the American Revolution, she showed, by means 
of her armies, that she was not dependent on or under any obli- 
gation to any foreign nation. 

When her maritime independence was threatened by the bar- 
barian states of Northern Africa, she, with her small and ineffi- 
cient navy, manned by brave, patriotic and freedom-loving com- 
manders, maintained her honor and forced her enemy to bow in 
reverence to her and beg for mercy at the cannon's mouth. 

In 1812, when her old enemy, Great Britain, was not respect- 
ing her maritime rights, even in her own waters, and on her 
own coasts, and was forcing her brave seamen into the British 
navy, she again rose and drove the British Lion from her domain, 
making him howl with misery. 

Next, we see her forcing Mexico, in 1846, to bow in humble 
obeisance to her, for her oppressive Texan subjects, who were 
struggling to throw off the foul yoke of oppression and injustice 
as our forefathers did in former days. Again, in that famous and 
bloody war between the States, she established the last mark 
of human freedom in her great domain; and in the late years of 
1897 and 1898 she forced Spain to acknowledge the independence 

r so i 



Imperialism. 



of the little island of Cuba, which had, for 200 years, been strug- 
gling in vain for freedom. In all these wars she fought for free- 
dom and independence, those blessings which God decreed and 
intended for man, His own image. 

But what is the present condition of affairs since the mission 
of her armies has been changed — changed from that pure, holy, 
and upright mission of procuring freedom and independence for 
the oppressed, to a foul and debased mission of further oppress- 
ing the oppressed? 

Only look to the far East. There, 7,000 miles from the nearest 
American shores, lies a cluster of beautiful, tropical islands, 
the Philippine Archipelago, inhabited by about ten million lib- 
erty-loving people who, like the Cubans, have ibeen striving for 
over three centuries to cast off the Spanish yoke of oppression, 
misery and woe. But in casting that yoke aside what have they 
gained. 

Look again! See those tented fields, those columns in glitter- 
ing uniforms! Whence are these? What banner is that waving 
in their midst? Alas! It proves to be the Star Spangled Banner, 
those columns are the boys in blue. Yes, thousands of boys in 
blue are there who have left their homes, friends and parents 
and volunteered to fight for their country. But alas! They are 
being sent to that foreign land to oppress the weak and ex- 
hausted, virtuous and freedom-loving natives, to make them 
subjects, vassals, slaves; to fight against the ancient principles 
and mission of their own dear land. 

Aye! No wonder the American Eagle screams in fear; no 
wonder he droops his head in shame. Oh, countrymen, arouse to 
your duty and put a stop to these threatening dangers to your 
own dear land. Cast from her domains the prefidous and im- 
perialistic traitors who wish to set aside her old institutions and 
build upon the ruins of a once proud republic a cruel and op- 
pressive empire. 



October, 1900. 



[51] 



Musing Moments. 



A subject which is of the utmost interest to us all; a story 
which is in itself a tale of wonders, a book which savors of the 
romantic, is that remarkable account of the growth and develop- 
ment of the Anglo-Saxon race. 

From the time our sturdy ancestors, the Angles and Sax- 
ons, left their barbarious haunts in the wiles and morasses of 
Northern Europe to sail the tempestuous seas to measure 
strength with the hardy French and Scandinavian pirates, and to 
breast the warry waves of the Atlantic in quest of booty; at 
last to wage a war of conquest against the semi-Roman tribes 
of Britain, compelling them to share their lands with the invad- 
ing hordes as they poured across the English Channel, until the 
time their descendants, after having founded a great kingdom 
on these beautiful isles, skimmed the Atlantic and established 
even a greater empire on the Western Continent, thence ad- 
vancing across the great midland plains and pushing their way 
over the towering Rockies and picturesque Sierras and down 
into beautiful valleys of California at last plying the unbroken 
waves of the broad Pacific and penetrating the Oriental jungles, 
imparting the blessings of civilization and the sacred principles 
of Christianity to the idolators of barbarious India and the fol- 
lowers of Confucius in benighted Cathay, a story of romance, 
a story of adventure, a story of glorious deeds and rare accom- 
plishments which thrill the souls of every true and patriotic 
Englishman and American, attends the race. 

This illustrious race has given to the world hundreds of heroes 
whose fame can perish only with the end of time. 

It's true that our more remote ancestors were once in the 
lowest states of barbarity and feticism, nevertheless they had 
brains that were capable of the highest development and souls 
that might be turned to the glory and honor of their Maker, the 
Alwise and Omnipotent Benefactor of mankind. 

It is needless to make reference to the immortal Newton, who 
grasped Nature's golden chain and caused a revolution of the 
then conceded laws of the universe in setting forth the laws 
of gravitation. It is needless to call your attention to the re- 

[52j 



Expansion of the Anglo-Saxon Race. 

markable Sir William Herscial, who soared into the boundless- 
limits of the stars, revealing a new world and a sister planet and 
pointing out the plurality of satellites that attend her in her 
revolution around the sun. 

It is needless to mention our own beloved Franklin, who pene- 
trated the heavens and grasped the fiery tongues of lightning, 
bringing them to earth to be utilized in carrying human mes- 
sages over broad continents and .beneath the waters of ocean's 
briny deep. These are only a few of the stars of the first magni- 
tude that glow in the Anglo-Saxon scientific dome. 

Her literary firmament also sparkles, with a thousand radiant 
stars, whose luster shall fade only in the golden dawn of eter- 
nity. 

The immortal verses of the illustrious Shakespeare, whose 
magic pen, through his still more magic mind, has immortalized 
every earthly creature, from the humblest insect and hissing 
serpent that crawJ at our feet, to the king as he sits on his 
throne, draped in silken robes, glittering with the rarest of 
jewels, significant of his royalty and power. His verses will be 
chanted by the Anglo-Saxon student till the last trumpet shall 
have been sounded and echoed from the lips of Heaven's angels 
on eternity's morn. 

We might say something of Marlowe, who revolutionized the 
style of the literary drama; of Milton, who unlocked the gates 
of eternity and beheld the splendors of Heaven and the horrors 
of hell, revealing himself in some of the world's greatest epics; 
of Bryant, whose youthful doubts expresses themselves in long- 
ing, plaintive sighs for truth; of Longfellow, who touched alike 
the hearts of the joyous lover and the stern philosopher with 
his brilliant wit and striking pathos; of the thousand others 
who have touched the melodious cords of Nature's harp, whose 
sound in itself is almost heavenly, and echoed in more plaintive 
strains the songs of the Syrens that entranced the bewildered 
voyager as he rocked on the bosom of the billowy deep in the 
mythical days of yore. 

This most glorious race has given to the world statesmen and 
orators who have almost shaken the foundation stones of earth, 
as it were, with their eloquence. Of this school, the Right Hon- 
orable William E. Gladstone, whose voice as yet has hardly 
ceased to reverberate in England's parliamentary halls,' and 

[53] 



Musing Moments. 



whose shrewd diplomacy has placed the government of England 
on a basis as lasting almost as the implacable rocks of Gibraltar; 
and our beloved Webster, whose voice has thundered through 
the corridors of our nation's capitol time after time, advocating 
the sacred, undiluted principles of a liberty-loving people before 
God and man, are most excellent representatives. 

This race has given to the world a list of military geniuses al- 
most innumerable, who have stood forth for the maintenance of 
the glory and integrity of their respective governments, and 
have shed luster upon the honor of the race. Of these we would 
mention the noble Duke of Wellington, who checked the advance 
of the proud French columns who, under the command of the 
renowned Napoleon, were devastating all Europe, forcing nations 
to do obeisance to the haughty dictator; or of our own gracious 
benefactor, George Washington, who struggled laboriously for 
American liDerties and who vindicated the great truth that 
"When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war;" or of 
Lee and Grant, who further vindicated this truth, and showed 
to the world that Anglo-Saxons do not barter principles and con- 
victions for a few mites of this world's wealth. 

And now, as this giant of races is about to clasp the world to 
his powerful yet gracious and beneficent embrace, may it be our 
earnest and hopeful prayer that neither we nor our successors 
shall do one thing that would cast reproach upon our glorious 
people, nor that will add a single blot to the radiance and splen- 
dor of the proud record that have so eagerly toiled to make. 



May, 1901. 



[54] 



Social Equality of the Races. 



A question which has greatly agitated the minds of the people 
of this country, and which has to some degree engaged the at- 
tention of much of the civilized world for the past few years, 
and especially for the past few months, is: SHOULD THE AF- 
RICAN BE PLACED ON A SOCIAL EQUALITY WITH THE 
CAUCASIAN? 

I feel a great delicacy in attempting to say something on this 
important and far-reaching question. Our greatest men seem 
to be divided in their opinions with regard to it, but it seems to 
be the result of partisanship rather than a struggle of honest 
convictions. The seeds which were sown long before the sixties, 
and which reached their fullest growth in the bloody struggle 
between the States, that caused the whole Western Continent to 
quake and tremble and the most precious blood of the most dar- 
ing and patriotic soldiers that ever trod the earth to be poured 
out on a thousand battlefields as a sacrifice for what they 
thought to be just and right — I say, these seed are still bearing 
fruit, and there yet remains a germ of sectional strife implanted 
in the hearts of our people. 

We feel that the destiny of our great and glorious Republic 
rests a great deal upon the decision rendered regarding this 
question of social equality. Should it be decided that these 
dusky sons of Ham have an equal capacity of learning, an equal 
conception of the law of mortality, and an equal regard for divine 
law and teaching, it is proposed by some to regard him as a 
social equal to the white man. 

We indeed have a great reverence and regard for our colored 
people, who glory in the title of "THE OLD TIME DARKEY." 
We truly feel a great degree of respect for him when our minds 
revert to the days when a mighty Civil War raged over our 
nation and threatned destruction to our beloved Southern 
homes. When the gloom of war hovered over the land, when 
the mournful roll of drums reverberated in the air summoning 
brave-hearted lads to the ranks, and when the last husband, or 
son, or brother who was able to bear arms was called upon to 
offer his life upon his country's altar, the faithful old negro 
servant, in whose care the mothers, sisters, and loved ones 

[55 J 



Musing Moments. 



had been entrusted, ever loyal to the old hearthstone, would 
shoulder a firelock in time of danger and seek to defend the 
home which he loved so dearly — whose virtues he held so sacred. 
Oftentimes he followed his master to the field of battle, espous- 
ing the cause which was thought to maintain his bondage, 
and was frequently found beside his fallen master, and would be 
the only one to imprint loving, passionate kisses upon the cold 
marble brow of one for whom he would willingly have sacrified 
his life. I repeat, to the OLD TIME DARKY is due a loving 
tribute of respect, and a monument should be erected by the 
South of today to fitly commemorate his gracious and merciful 
deeds to a sorrow-stricken people. 

But, ah, how different with so many of the present generation, 
servants to their own gloomy, brutish passions, without regard or 
love for home, country, or God. The present is the only time 
with them. Yesterday is of the past, tomorrow too far ahead; 
and thus, sustained by their political liberty, they rush on to 
destruction and eternity. I do not wish to be understood as an 
advocate of bondage, or as a champion of serfdom and brutality, 
but as a friend of truth and right. The present dusky children 
are in a greater bondage by far than their much-honored antebel- 
lum ancestors. 

Then- are we going to decide that this degenerated race should 
be placed on an equality with the Anglo-American people, who 
have for centuries been the bearers of civilization and Chris- 
tianity to the savage and unenlightened? Shall we give to the 
Negro the social right to take his stand in the pulpit and in his 
way expound the word of God to a mingled audience of whites 
and blacks? Shall we give him the right to enter our legisla- 
tive halls and dictate the laws of this great Republic? Shall we 
concede to him the right to occupy the President's chair as chief 
executive of the Anglo-American people? Or, finally, shall the 
glory of that dear old banner, whose beaming stars and sacred 
stripes have waved in splendor in every clime beneath the great 
canopy of heaven, imparting the blessings of liberty and happi- 
ness to downtrodden humanity wherever their golden luster has 
chanced to cast its hopeful ray, whose silken folds have en- 
wrapped more than one immortal hero who has fallen on the 
field of battle fighting to uphold the glory and honor of the proud 
home of the free — shall we permit the purity of that illustrious 



[56 



Social Equality of the Races. 



standard to be polluted by letting it wave over a land where 
African and American are considered equal socially and politi- 
cally? 

There is a saying that all men are created equal. 'Tis true, 
they are all created helpless babes in their mothers' arms, com- 
pelled to rely upon the devotion and love of parents, and the 
providence of God ; but in some there is an inate germ which may 
be developed to an infinitely higher point of excellence than 
others may hope to reach. In this, there seems to be a prepon- 
derance of number in the Caucasian race, of which we, as Anglo- 
Americans, are a type, and never shall we condescend to regard 
ourselves upon an equality with the African, at his present stand- 
ard of excellence, so long as Anglo-Saxon bodies are ruled by 
Anglo-Saxon minds. 



March, 1902. 




[57 



Musing Moments. 



(When a Representative of the Calliopean Literary Society.) 

In the great Book of Life it was not written nor was it in- 
tended that man should die, in the absolute, with the mortal 
casement in which he dwells while an active being in the world. 
He shall still live — not as an active being, but he shall live in 
the minds of the people of his country, either as a symbol of 
purity, uprightness, and a true image of God or a symbol of 
eternel hell. 

He shall live in accordance with his deeds. His deeds may 
be small yet good, or they may seem great, yet are foul and un- 
couth. The deeds of our most ancient parents, though they 
seemed small to them, perhaps, have lived through generation 
after generation and shall ever live and cause each succeeding 
generation to suffer from them. 

Socrates still lives as a symbol of Grecian wisdom. The ages 
whisper in our ears his last words of advice and exhortation to 
his loving pupils before he drank the fatal hemlock. 

I can see him, in my imagination, sitting in the heavenly choir 
of God, wearing a golden diadem set with sapphires of the purest 
kinds and rubies of the richest hue as a reward for his faithful- 
ness and devotion to a God whom he recognized as the Maker of 
all things in preference to the legal gods of his country, whom 
he recognized as non-existent. 

Aristotle and Plato also live as monuments of Grecian wisdom 
and understanding. 

Homer, the blind poet, lives and shall ever live a symbol of 
Grecian eloquence and song. Though blind and humble then, 
many cities of Southern Europe now claim the honor of being 
the birthplace of a man so great and true. 

Virgil, the great Epic poet, and Horace, the great Lyric poet 
of Rome, still live as monuments of Roman wisdom and eloquence. 
Their poems are yet chanted on the gentle winds of Italy, and 
their beautiful and sublime notes are wafted over the civilized 
world, filling the air with ecstacy and song. The schoolboy is 
inspired by them and strives to become great and honorable. 

[58 J 



Past and Present Live in Future. 



Dante lives and shall continue to live the hero of Medieval 
poetry. 

Milton, the greatest Epic poet of modern times, lives a glowing 
monument to English song and English ideas of the Creator 
of the world. Milton, like Homer, was blind and had innumer- 
able obstacles to overcome, yet by his untiring energy he has 
accomplished a deed that shines to the world as bright as the 
noonday sun. 

The name of Alexander will ever stand as the symbol of Mace- 
donian determination, indomitable courage, and untiring energy 
and bravery. 

Leonidas, with his three hundred Spartans have left at Ther- 
mopolae and in the minds of the people a monument significant 
of Spartan courage and obedience. 

The name of Caesar is significant of Roman heroism and su- 
premacy. Julius Caesar shines as the instrument of God in pre- 
paring for the Savior of Man by establishing a universal peace 
for the reception of one so pure, so divine. 

Charlemagne and Napoleon are the heroes of French mili- 
tarism. Napoleon, with his proud columns, flaunting banners 
a?)d screaming eagles penetrated the very heart of Europe, and 
forced the Russian bear to tremble and recoil under his martial 
grasp. Germany, Prussia and Austria were all forced to yield 
before the heroic legions of Napoleon. Egypt was overrun and 
laid desolate. Coalition after coalition quailed before the col- 
umns of French heroes. But the star of both Napoleon and 
France were at their zenith. That star which had dazzled the 
world was destined to set. A final coalition was made which 
resulted in the eagles of France forsaking the heretofore victo- 
rious legions, and the star of France and the child of Destiny 
sank forever. 

Our own George Washington and Robert E. Lee live and shall 
continue to live the champions of American liberty, justice and 
heroism. 

The names of Demosthenes and Cicero are emblematic of Gre- 
cian and Roman oratory and eloquence. Their voices are yet 
heard to resound in the corridors of eternity and are echoed 
back to earth. The voice of Demosthenes inspired Grecian ad- 
vancement in all the arts of that time. Cicero will ever live as 
the preserver of the great Roman government against the vile 



[ 59 



Musing Moments. 



and contaminating influence of a well planned conspiracy of the 
treacherous Cataline. 

Webster, Calhoun, Hayne, and Clay live symbolical of Ameri- 
can wisdom, eloquence and oratory. They shine to their native 
country as guiding stars to the following generations. I can 
hear their voices as they are wafted by the zephyrs that float 
gently over our heads, entreating us to make our names immor- 
tal by deeds that are characteristic of true greatness. I can see 
them looking from their lofty eminence sanctioning our every 
deed of virtue and truth and disdaining our acts of unrighteous- 
ness. 

The present, too, shall live in the future. 

Shall we make it an epoch worthy for a model for succeeding 
timje, or shall we cause it to be looked upon as a period of un- 
hallowed deeds. 

Dear comrades, you shall each be a factor in the future des- 
tiny of both yourselves and your country. With the sweet god- 
dess, Calliope, as your guardian angel ever hovering around you, 
the face of whom is a beaming sun shining in limitless splendor, 
and a flower of incomparable beauty; whose robe is dyed in the 
sweet perfumes of Eden and sends forth an aroma on the waft- 
ing waves of the gentle and refreshing winds ever blowing 
around us; the voice of whom is the very essence of eloquence 
and song, and as soft and melodious as the inspiring notes of the 
golden lyre; in the ship of true Calliopeanism, with wisdom for 
a rudder and eloquence for a guide and steersman, may you be 
on the road to immortality — not of misery, woe, and eternal sor- 
row, but an immortality of joy, bliss and everlasting rest and 
happiness, where you may join the heavenly choir and wear a 
crown of glory forever. 



April, 1900. 



[60 



Valedictory. 



(Written for Miss W T , April, 1905.) 

Since the day that man first viewed his beautiful abode newly 
wrought by the Omnipotent Hand from naught and chaos and 
fashioned by a kind Providence into a. vast garden of beauty — 
a world of sublime loveliness — and saw in himself the glorious 
climax of all creation, the perfect image of his Creator; and 
then with discontented longing deigned to stoop to the level 
of the clay from which he was moulded, seeking a further indul- 
gence of his vanity, the career of mortals has been gladly and 
sadly diversified. Joy has been tempered with grief, gladness 
with sorrow, and perfect blessings have been crowned with 
misery and woe — with the mixed cup of which it is the common 
lot of man to quench his thirst and then continue his uncertain 
course from dawn until twilight, from the threshold of life to 
the dim portal of eternity. 

When he finds the pathway of life strewn and carpeted with 
flowers, yes, flowers of the richest and rarest fragrance, he must 
guide his footsteps with care and caution, for beneath the tinted 
petals of the most ibeautifully-colored rose there lurks the cruel 
thorn. 

Life has been appropriately likened unto a stream, rising 
from the pure fountain of childhood and gently flowing into the 
laughing, leaping, lunging streamlet of youth — now dancing in 
playful ripples from shore to shore, now rolling and rushing to 
be dashed to spray on the jagged rocks beneath the plunging 
cataract— and then in the ever-widening valley of middle life it 
grows and expands into a broad river, with its eddies, currents 
and counter-currents, until finally it is lost in the boundless gulf 
of Death and the great beyond. 

What a halo of joy and of greeting gleams on the face of a 
mother as she looks for the first time on the face of her new- 
born babe; and with what gentleness and love does she care for 
it through its tender years until its bark is safely launched in 
the ocean of time; but ah, what a cloud of pain and sorrow 
hangs o'er her countenance when she is called to the bedside 
of her son to watch the fire of his existence burn out, and then 

[61] 



Musing Moments. 



burst into a flood of tears as she presses the last fond, passion- 
ale kiss on his pale and trembling lips, and hears with woeful 
bitterness his final farewell. 

It is a joy to welcome, but oh, what a sadness it is to say fare- 
well to those we love. And I would that today, as I come with 
heavy heart to say good-bye to you dear schoolmates and friends, 
I could find sweet solace in these words of Byron, too true, but 
none the less remorseful: 

"Have not all past human beings parted, 
And must not all the present one day part?" 

But no, the sweeter sentiment of another poet finds lodgment 
in my heart — 

"When forced to part from those we love, 

Though sure to meet tomorrow, 
We yet a kind of anguish prove, 

And feel a touch of sorrow. 
But oh, what words can paint the fears 

When from those friends we sever, 
Perhaps to part for months — for years — 

Perhaps to part forever." 

But now, dear friends, of this beautiful little village, we can 
not longer linger at the door of vain regrets, but must bid you 
good-bye. Kind indeed was the Providence that brought us to 
your midst, and many have been the pleasures that you lavished 
upon us; and though now we must part, sweet memory will ever 
bless us with the glad thought of those days which time can not 
restore. We must leave you now to walk in other paths, be 
guided by other hands and helped by other hearts, but none can 
be safer and gentler than those we leave behind. With hearts 
full of appreciation and love, we bid you farewell. 

But even yet there are tenderer ties that must be broken — 
ties which have been made strong and stronger by everyday as- 
sociation and blessed companionship; and as I turn to pay a 
farewell tribute to teachers and schoolmates, there rises in my 
bosom a throb of grief which no language of the emotions can 
relate. 

Dear teachers, good-bye. You, who with never-ceasing patience 
and forbearance have manifested such a deep, untiring interest 



[62 



J j 



Valedictory. 



in each one of us, and infused into our souls the very essence 
of your noble lives, and made us long for higher and better things, 
can not conceive of the pain it causes us to be forced to utter 
these parting words. For many of us, the Halcyon days are 
past that we are to be permitted to sweetly repose under the 
blissful guardianship of your counsel and learning. But yester- 
day we rejoiced at having the fountain of your knowledge to 
draw from; today, with drooping heads and trembling hands, we 
loose the golden chalice from our grasp; tomorrow we pass away 
— we know not whither — banished from your shielding presence. 
But words fail me. Farewell. 

Dear Philomathesians, to you we would not fail to say a part- 
ing word. Ours is a mutual sorrow today. The friendly strug- 
gle in which we have been engaged for many months ends today 
in a truce of sad and sorrowful separation. We bave contended 
as rivals in the race for the laurel wreath of excellence, not as 
foes with a cause of honor to avenge. You have proven your- 
selves worthy knights on the field, and now as you enter the 
arena of life, we can not but urge you to face the fight with the 
same fearlessness that has characterized your efforts here. Never 
cease to be "Lovers of Learning", or "Seekers of the Truth" in 
all its bountiful fullness, for what is seeking the truth but Wis- 
dom, the offspring of Knowledge? May the stars on your be- 
loved banner never grow less in number, nor less brilliant in 
their beauty. Farewell. 

Here I can not but hesitate, for my dear beloved Calliopeans, 
to you comes the final adieu. During our relationship as co- 
workers in this glorious band of Burritt boys and girls, I have 
learned to love you as brothers and sisters, and it is like tearing 
my heart from its bed of flesh to say farewell to you. But like 
Promethious of old, I am bound to the rock of helpless remorse 
and must writhe in the deathless agony of this torturing mo- 
ment. Soon we will gather for the last time in that dear old 
hall, fraught with its countless pleasant memories and fond rec- 
ollections — a Paradise of blessed thoughts, a feast to the eyes 
and an inspiration to the soul. Soon we must furl that glorious 
old banner, the emblem of excellence, the pride and delight of 
Calliopean hearts; and while it must soon pass from our view, 
we can never, never forget the sanctity of those beautiful words 
inscribed on her silken folds, nor lose sight of the effulgent ra- 



[63] 



Musing Moments. 



diance of that blessed star of Unity and Strength — unity of 
hearts in an aspiration for the highest and best and a strength 
of determination to excel. What sweeter hope could we have in 
this hour of parting than that we may walk in the light and 
beauty of Wisdom's way until Immortality, the glorious goal of 
our endeavors, shall burst upon us in all its sublimity and we 
can proclaim with the eloquence of never-ending joy the glory 
of an eternal reunion. And to you whom the world must soon 
welcome we would say, be honest, be noble, be true, and the 
crown of success will be your reward. Farewell. 

One moment more and the spell is broken: 

Farewell, Old Burritt, thou Mecca of our hearts, 
To all thy hallowed blessings fare thee well; 

Time calls us; from thy shrine — imparts 
A sadness to our souls no tongue can tell. 

We feign would linger near thee yet awhile, 

And from thy sacred fountain quench our thirst; 

In thy pure waters neither guilt nor guile 

Nor taint nor stain can e'er be found immerst. 

We feign would linger neath the blessed spell 

Of thy rich grace and sweet security, 
And hearken to the notes of thy old bell 

As it chimes our joys through blest futurity. 

But no, Alas! Time calls us hence. We hear 

With grief its last sad peal — our parting knell — 

And through eternity our hearts must bear 
The solemn impress of this last farewell. 

[I prize this above everything else I have composed, especially 
the little poem to my Alma Mater. — M. C] 



[64J 



The Handwriting on the Wall. 



Tiki SSim^wirMiiio on tlfoo Wall 

(Written for H S , Representative of C. L. S.) 

When we view the gruesome cloud which hangs like a pall 
of gloom over the Orient, and behold the storms of carnage that 
daily burst from its turbulent depths, we are led to repeat the 
question, "Can any good come of war?" To this query an an- 
swer is echoed from the oblivion of ages past and gone which in 
muffled accents proclaim, that "Time alone can tell." 

When the Sun in his wonted glory smiling rose and cast his 
gleam on Calvary's height to find Golgotha's bosom pierced with 
the cross on which was to be suspended the Savior of Man; — 
when His limbs were nailed to the cross and the crown of thorns 
implanted on his brow, and his pure heart beat with the agoniz- 
ing tortures of Death, did those servants of Augustus realize, as 
t-iey thrust their spears into his side and poured forth his pre- 
cious blood, that in that deed the salvation of a world depended? 
No, but Earth quaked and trembled her acknowledgment, peals 
of thunder rolled amidst the heavens, and firey tongues of light- 
ning shot athwart the sky, while Apollo himself hid his face in 
meek veneration and dismay. 

And today, as the wail of wounded thousands is wafted to our 
ears from the far away hills of Manchuria — her valleys running 
red with human gore, and her soil drenched with the blood of 
Turan and Slav, who knows but what in this fearful human 
slaughter the purging of a nation depends? Who knows but that 
the little Japs, the fighting terrors of the East, are to be to Rus- 
sia what Attila was to Rome, "The Scourge of God" to lash the 
haughty tyrant into shame? Already her hosts have been baf- 
fled; army after army has been forced to yield before the awful 
onslaught, of the heroic Japs; fortress after fortress has been 
made to open its gates to the victorious enemy; and the flower 
of her vast empire has withered before the blasting fire of a 
relentless yet no unmerciful foe. 

The Great Bear of Europe and Asia has -been humiliated; his 
prestige on the seas has been reduced to a mere fable of the 
past; the terror of the dreaded Cossack has become a joke. An- 
archy reigns at home, and Discontent, like a ghostly shadow, 
stalks abroad the land. 

[65] 



Musing Moments. 



Proud Russia, thy crisis has come. "The Handwriting is on 
the Wall." Cries of liberty rend the air. There was a day when 
the tyrant's hand could wield the scepter undismayed over a 
degenerate populace, but Time has evolved a civilization which 
no longer yields to the whims of the Little Father, nor bends a 
suppliant knee before the throne of the haughty Autocrat. 

Almighty Czar, the day of thy doom draws nigh— behold thy 
fate and tremble. Turn thy proud head and see in History's 
mirror the reflection of thy fall. Hearken to the doleful cries 
of thy bleeding and dying soldiers borne across Siberia's snowy 
desert and echoed from the hearts of widowed wives and child- 
less mothers in plaintive prayers for peace. Lend ear to Lib- 
erty's clarion note, and grant Freedom's humble petition ere it 
be too late. 

Think you not that behind prison bars the spirit of Maxim 
Gorky rests secure; for no, the fire of his words has already 
burned into the hearts of many millions, and the flame of his pa- 
triotism has begun to kindle into a vast conflagration. 

From Poland's plains there comes a rumbling sound which 
portends no good to Russian supremacy. Many years have 
passed since the gallant Pole was forced to yield to the irresist- 
ible hand of the triple-alliance, but the memories of that fateful 
epoch have never been forgotten. His lands were laid desolate, 
his majestic castles were despoiled and razed to the ground, and 
his Lords and Knights were banished from the land they loved 
and the homes they cherished to appease the vanity of the heart- 
less conqueror. 

The same spirit that prompted the dauntless Kosiusco to seize 
the sword and fight for American liberty — the same spirit that 
led the brave Pulaski to spill his blood and sacrifice his life on 
the altar of Freedom in a foreign land, is today urging the de- 
scendants of their fathers to arise in the strength of their 
former glory and cast off the yoke which has so long and so 
heavily weighed upon their necks. 

Haughty Russia, thy sins have found thee out. The star of 
Autocracy now wanes beneath the super-brilliancy of Liberty's 
glittering orb, and but a few years shall pass before it shall sink 
forever into the oblivion of a barbarous past. 

Like Babylon of old, thou are rousing from the lethargy of thy 
stupid reverie to be appalled by this fateful decree, "Thou are 
weighed in the balance and found wanting." 

April 13, 1905. 



[66] 



A Dream of Destiny. 



(Delivered at Burritt College in 1902.) 

The constantly recurring cycles of time, unwilling to he de- 
terred in their hurried revolutions, have ever been bringing man- 
kind and his whirling abode to the day of final reparation. Every 
day, every hour, witnesses the launching of some human bark 
upon the stormy ocean of life to contend with its turbulent bil- 
lows, and at last, having stemmed the threatening tides and 
struck a favorable current, to bring up and anchor, perhaps a 
weather-beaten craft in the silent bay of success, in sight of the 
beautiful fortune-favored shores of honor and glory, accessible 
by a few more determined strokes of the oars; or, it being frail 
and ill-fitted, to be tossed to and fro by angry blasts and seething, 
restless waves, finally to be submerged in the bosom of the deep, 
or be dashed by mad .breakers upon the gloomy rock-bound coast 
of failure and remorse. 

Empires may rise, flourish and decay; statesmen and rulers 
may be born to add fresh merit to the pages of history; poets, 
sculptors and artists may spring forth to add new luster to the 
esthetic firmament with golden gems — the products of their in- 
ventive minds; chaplets may be woven, and crowns of laurel 
may be wreathed to deck the brows of new heroes and conquer- 
ors; but the silent, yet never halting march of Time, with its 
joys and sorrows, pangs and pleasures remains forever the same 
eternal — unswerved, unchanged. 

Let us view for a moment the tragic records of past ages, 
tinted here and there by peculiarly romantic aspects, and reflect 
upon the glory and grandeur of former kingdoms and kings, em- 
pires and emperors, governments and rulers in general. We 
perceive how the guiding star of ambition and the constant strug- 
gle for supremacy and universality have marked the fate of men 
and nations, who, with a greed for power as an incentive to the 
attainment of their loftiest hopes, have burst forth in full ra- 
diance and splendor; but, like the meteor, they sparkle and shed 
their glimmering rays for only a few fleeting moments and then 
their luster dispels and pales away in the more resplendant bril- 
liancy of a rising sun. 



[67 



Musing Moments. 



Such a reflection also incites us to view more closely the pres- 
ent state of things, and we ponder and ask ourselves the ques- 
tion, "Where drifts our Ship of State?" Thence we are led to 
sail out into the unknown void of the future, and with imagina- 
tion's eye we may attempt to catch a glimpse of a destiny whose 
coming is inevitable. 

Oh, that the impenetrable veil that withholds the present from 
the future and intercepts the further vision of mortal eyes could 
he lifted for only a few brief seconds that mankind might behold 
the goal in this life which he is unavoidably approaching! 

Judging from past experience, as well as from that of the pres- 
ent, and from an interpretation of divine prophecies as yet 
thought to be unfulfilled, one might discern through the inter- 
vening obscurity the dim outlines of coming fate, though time 
may reveal it as only a dream. 

Even now we see a portentous haze hovering over Europe, which 
appears to be gathering little by little into a cloud of more dusky 
cast which may some day enshroud the whole continent, yea, the 
whole world, in one unbroken vesture of gloom, and hold old 
earth in the very throes of desolation and ruin. 

Russia, that collossal power of Northern Europe and Asia, 
whose cruel hands have blighted perhaps myriad flowers of 
youth in the bud, and wasted them away as exiles in the cold, 
snowy desert of Siberia; whose strong and oppressive arm has 
fallen so heavily on her many subjects from one end of the em- 
pire to the other, threatening to visit desolation upon those who 
resist the imperious mandates of the tyrannical monarch — that 
political giant is surveying with jealous eye every maneuver of 
her hated rival, England, whose authority, proud but not so cum- 
brous, has also been established in the four winds of the earth. 
In fact, the English banner has been unfurled among the bleak, 
solitary icebergs of the polar regions, where chilling blasts chant 
their dismal, forlorn notes as they leap from peak to peak and 
play among the icy crags, their dreary strains reverberating 
through the unbroken silence of enveloping gloom; her silken 
folds have floated from the summit of the Hymalayas, whose tow- 
ering peaks almost pierce the etherial realms and seem to kiss 
the stars, as if holding mutual converse with these celestial orbs, 
while the sweet aroma from palm and jessamine are born upward 
from the underlying plains to mingle their fragrance with the 



[68 



A Dream of Destiny. 



splendid perfumes which are wafted by heavenly breezes from 
the jeweled robes of angels, who have flown from Heaven's gates 
to these lofty heights, standing like sentinels overlooking and 
guarding the tropical valleys, below, strewn with the ruins of 
ancient grandeur, and traversed by silvered streams with their 
typical Oriental jungles, in whose dreary labyrinths the hiss of a 
serpent or the whist of a plummed bird, as he flits from bough 
to bough, alone disturb the serene stillness. 

A terrible clash between these two great powers must surely 
result, and that at no extremely distant day. Scarcely three 
months have passed since another spark was added to the flame 
in the coalition of France with the Slavonian Empire. 

From the time the Duke of Wellington plucked the star of 
France from the heavens, hurling it into the depths of defeat, 
and implanting one of more effulgent brilliancy in its stead, that 
nation has loathed English people and English customs with a 
Punic hatred. 

On the other hand, we may see the ties of affiliation growing 
stronger between our own beloved nation, another of earth's 
greatest factors, and our mother country .beyond the Atlantic. 

I fancy I hear shrill, heart-stirring bugle notes rend the air, 
like as a sudden blast of wind that disturbs the calm stillness 
just before a gale, and the mournful roll of drums resounding 
over hill and vale echoes in gentle, plaintive strains from dis- 
tant mountains. All nature is dumb with awe, and I see broad, 
expansive plains turned into vast camping grounds, mountains 
into fortresses, and oceans and seas into continuous fields of 
conflict. I see the nations of earth, from the Pacific coast of 
America, east to the plains of far-away India and China, muster- 
ing under either of two standards — one representing those coun- 
tries who prefer idols to God, or who have polluted the sacred 
teachings of Christ by associating them with barbarious my- 
thology and feticism; the other representing those countries who 
advocate the undiluted principles of the true faith and light, and 
stand for the sacred tenets of Him who glorified the Cross. 

Next we hear the roar of musketry and the clank of steel, while 
mighty cannon belch forth their torrent of fire and missiles and 
hurl them forward on their ghastly errand. The smoke of battle 
arises, gathers into a mantel, and hovers over earth as if to hide 
the shame of the terrible scenes of carnage below from the face 



[69] 



Musing Moments. 



of the Sun as he flies through the boundless limits of space, 
blushing and red as if startled and amazed at the deathly havoc. 
The tide of conflict is on, never to cease until old earth is purged 
with the blood of many nations, and floods of human gore "even 
to the horses bridles", rush in torrents to the sea. 

Oh! what a tale of woe — of gloom — of horror! Could pen, the 
instruments of the poet's imagination, or brush the agent of the 
painter's fancy, picture on paper or canvas the doleful scenes 
enacted? 

But, when the proud and haughty have been humiliated, and 
the pure and humble have been exalted, the overhanging shad- 
ows vanish, and the sweet melodious voice of angels rends the 
air .bidding "peace on earth, good will toward men." 

Spring at last has burst the bars of dreadful winter and all is 
calm and serene. The hope of Heaven has been attained and a 
universal kingdom has been established with Jesus Christ as 
King and Sovereign. Heaven has conquered and Satan is cast 
from earth and bound in chains to be loosed at the Conqueror's 
pleasure. Every flower is the symbol of purity and bespeaks 
the very essence of divinity; every note of bird-song is a melody 
of praise to God; every voice is a message of prayer and en- 
deavor to the Ruler of Heaven and earth; every breeze that 
blows wafts sweet incense from Nature's altars to mingle with 
that of a more enticing realm. 

I envy thee not, proud Babylon — neither thy joyous revelries, 
thy hanging gardens, thy splendid palaces decked with the orna- 
ments of the wealth of the ancient world, nor thy temples of un- 
told magnificence and pomp. Thy boasted glories now lie be- 
neath thy desolate ruins, whose silent haunts mark the dreary 
abode of bats and owls. 

I envy thee not, proud Ninevah, for thy magnificence hath long 
been huried in the wreck of thy glory. 

I envy thee not, haughty Macedonia, for thy power hath long 
since passed away, and thy splendor hath been eclipsed by pass- 
ing ages. 

I envy thee not, O illustrious City of the Seven Hills! nor 
covet the weath and pomp that made thee queen of earth. You 
no longer greet your victorious leaders with triumphs, nor lavish 
the spoils of conquered nations upon your stately buildings, or 
the statues of your heroes, gods and goddesses. Long since your 

[70 1 



A Dream of Destiny. 



gates have been opened, and the city surrendered to the hand 
of the merciless avenger. Your homes have been sacked and 
burned, your temples and palaces have been robbed and despoiled 
of their beauty and razed to the ground by the barbarious hordes 
of Goths and Vandals. 

But I would that I could behold and enjoy the pleasures of the 
fifth universal empire, whose glories are of those that are eternal, 
and whose magnificence shall burst forth into that unspeakable 
Elysium of everlasting summer Avhen the Prince of Peace returns 
to gather his flock together in Eden regained to lead them where 
gentle zephyrs blow eternal fragrance from limitless fields of 
flowers and waft sweet musical strains of Seraph song, forever 
filling Heaven with thrilling rapture and ecstatic bliss, and 
where the glory of God is light. 



June, 1902. 




[.71] 



Musing Moments. 



(Revised and delivered at Vanderbilt University in 1907.) 

The constantly recurring cycles of Time, unwilling to be de- 
terred in their hurried revolutions, have ever been bringing 
mankind and his whirling abode to the day of final reparation. 
Since man first viewed the earth newly wrought by the Omnipo- 
tent Hand from naught and chaos, and fashioned by a kind Provi- 
dence into a vast garden of beauty, a world of sublime loveliness, 
and saw in himself the glorious climax of all creation, the perfect 
image of his Creator ; and then with discontented longing deigned 
to stoop to the level of the clay from which he was, moulded to 
seek a further indulgence of his vanity, the career of mortals 
has been sadly diversified. 

From families, clans and tribes have grown nations proud and 
powerful. And today, when we gaze into the mirror of the past, 
and there behold the tragic reflection of ages, now rich and 
radiant with the golden dawn of hope, now bedimmed by crimson 
clouds and fleeting shadowy phantoms, we perceive how the guid- 
ing star of ambition and the constant struggle for supremacy 
and universality have marked the fate of men and nations, who, 
with a greed for power as an incentive to the attainment of their 
loftiest hopes, have burst forth in full radiance; but, like the 
meteor, they sparkle and shed their glimmering rays for only a 
few fleeting moments till their luster dispels and pales away in 
the more resplendant brilliancy of a rising sun. 

Empires may rise, flourish and decay; statesmen and rulers 
may be born to add fresh merit to the pages of history; poets, 
sculptors and artists may spring forth to give new luster to the 
aesthetic firmament with precious gems — the products of their 
inventive minds; chaplets may he woven and crowns of laurel 
may be wreathed to deck the brows of new heroes and conquer- 
ors; but the silent, yet never-halting march of Time, with its 
joys and sorrows, its pangs and pleasures, remains forever the 
same — eternal, unswerved, unchanged. 

Oh, that the impenetrable veil that withholds the present from 
the future and intercepts the further vision of mortal eyes could 

[72] 



A Dream of Destiny. 



be lifted for only a few brief seconds that mankind might behold 
the goal which he is unavoidably approaching! 

Judging from the experience of the past, as well as from pres- 
ent indications, and from an interpretation of divine prophecy 
as yet thought to be unfulfilled, one might discern through the 
intervening obscurity the dim outlines of coming fate, though 
Time may reveal it as only a dream. 

When Hannibal, after a glorious struggle with adversity, stood 
on the "Acropolis of Italy" and beheld the broad, fertile fields 
below and saw the object of his pledged hate hovering as if in 
fear beside the Tiber, the flush of victory thrilled his soul and 
the glory and fame of fajr Carthage seemed secure and her 
Punic wrath almost avenged. A world crisis was at hand! Des- 
tiny awaited the fateful command, and a saber's flash might 
have been the signal for Rome's day of judgment. But dazed 
and bedazzled by the star of success, the hand of Procrastination 
flung doubt in the balance and the coveted prize was forfeited 
to the Thief of Time. 

Today, civilization, whose problems have formed the Alpine 
heights and frozen barriers to millions struggling for law and 
liberty, has evolved in our great and glorious Republic a host of 
heroes, strong and sturdy, who have faced the fight and scaled 
the challenging heights until at last they stand on the summit, 
the Acropolis of Prosperity, with untold treasure beneath their 
feet, surveying the broad expansive plains of wealth and happi- 
ness that greet their vision and invite their utmost efforts in 
every field of endeavor. The crown of liberty graces the brow 
of fair Columbia, and her banner has become a perfect firmament 
bespangled and illuminated by a glorious constellation of States. 
The olive branch is in her hand and the dove of peace nestles 
closely to her bosom. Her children are scattered about the earth 
speaking praises of her glory and doing deeds of valor in the name 
of the Queen of the Western Hemisphere. Every flower is the 
symbol of purity and bespeaks the very essence of divinity; every 
note of birdsong is a melody of praise to God; every breeze that 
blows wafts sweet incense from Nature's altars to mingle with 
that of a more enticing realm. 

I "envy thee not, proud Babylon, neither thy gorgeous revel- 
ries, thy hanging gardens, thy splendid palaces decked with the 
wealth of the ancient world, nor thy temples of untold magnifi- 



es ] 



Musing Moments. 



cence and pomp! Thy boasted glories now lie beneath thy deso- 
late ruins whose silent haunts do but mark the dreary abode 
of bats and owls! 

I envy thee not, proud Ninevah, for thy magnificence has long 
been buried in the wreck of thy glory! 

I envy thee not, haughty Macedonia, for. thy power has long 
since passed away and thy splendor eclipsed by passing ages! 

I envy thee not, O illustrious City of the Seven Hills! nor 
covet the wealth and pomp that made thee Queen of Earth. You 
no longer greet your victorious leaders with triumphs, nor lavish 
the spoils of conquered nations upon your stately buildings. 
Long since j^our gates have been opened and the city surrendered 
to the hand of the merciless avenger. Your homes have been 
sacked and burned, your temples and palaces have been robbed 
and despoiled of their beauty, and razed to the dust by barbar- 
ious hordes of Goths and Vandals. 

"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
All that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave 
Await alike the inevitable hour — 

The path of glory leads but to the grave." 

With mixed admiration and disgust do we stand by the tomb 
of Richelieu, that iron-willed guardian of Bourbon puppets, the 
Prince of Absolutism; with mute amazement do' we look upon 
the cold marble sepulcher of Napoleon Bonaparte, that little Cor- 
sican who seized Destiny by the forelock and compelled him to 
do his bidding, who made nations his playground, armed hosts 
his toys, and kings' crowns his gifts in exchange for human 
blood; with mingled pity and contempt do we behold the fate of 
the Stuarts, those mock tyrants of the Seventeenth Century, 
whose imbecility and petty sovereignty triumphed for only a 
few brief 3 r ears until Fate fixed forever their deserved lot. 

But who would not envy the proud fortune, the rich heritage 
of the American citizen? To him the triumph of Liberty is 
dearer than the divine right of kings, and the evolution of a 
higher civilization furnishes a loftier theme for his thought than 
the creation of monarchs and tyrants. 

But hark! In the midst of our prosperity, and above the din 
of merry-making millions, a note of warning pierces the sky. 
'Tis the scream of the American Eagle! Behold the vulture's 



[74] 



A Dream of Destiny. 



presence, threatening the brood he so jealously guards. Yes, 
even our atmosphere is tainted with the lust for power and the 
greed for gain. Halt! Take heed, lest careless indifference and 
the mad rush of frenzied thousands leave the Old Ship of State 
to the mercy of this Jason band, who, lured on by the selfish 
search for the golden fleece, must surely steer the proud old 
boat into the maelstrom of centralization and ruin! 

Other evils, like the race problem, capital and labor dissen- 
sions, the perplexities attending the question of immigration, 
and a tendency toward imperialistic ideas hang as ominous 
clouds upon the horizon. Shall our Republic fall a prey to the 
corrupting influences which have wrought so much havoc and 
destruction in the past? Shall she nurture and sustain those 
vices which ere long must turn upon her and gnaw her very 
vitals? Snail the progress of Anglo-Saxon institutions be jeop- 
ardized by a petty quarrel over an inferior race; or the wheel of 
Prosperity cease to revolve to empty fortune into the hands of 
a favored few? No. From the North, from the South, from the 
East, from the West comes a chorus of voices in one unbroken 
strain of protest. The American people are alive to the peril, 
and in fancy I behold them rising in the glory of their might to 
proclaim their sovereignty. No Macedonian phalanx, no Roman 
legion, no Imperial Guard is needed to extend their power or 
defend the treasure house of American Liberty. As the sun 
ascends the vaulted sky the ghostly shadows shall vanish, and 
at noonday not a cloud shall obstruct the glory of his rays. But 
a flood of light shall fall upon millions of happy hearts to be 
reflected in gorgeous splendor about the world. Even now the 
thrones of the few remaining tyrants are tottering, and their 
fall but awaits the evolution of a Captain fit to lead and a peo- 
ple fit to follow. The prayers of the masses are ascending to 
the God of the Universe, and their petition will be granted. 
"THE VOICE OF THE PEOPLE IS THE VOICE OF GOD." 



Musing Moments. 



Charles Frederick Adams, Manager of the Lyric Opera House, 
Broadway, New York, was just emerging from a little cigar 
stand down on the East Side near the German quarter, and stop- 
ped for a moment on the sidewalk to light a cigarette, before 
getting back into his big automobile standing at the curb. 

"Please, sir, won't you buy a tie — these are nice ties, I made 
them myself; and when they get dirty, sir, you can wash them 
and wear them again, sir. Yes, you will buy just one, I know — ■ 
thank you, sir." 

The tall, handsome Manager looked before him, and there 
stood a little girl, humbly but neatly attired in a bright, clean 
gingham dress, plain black hose, old but polished slippers, with 
nothing on her head except a tiny blue ribbon neatly bound about 
a bit of her beautiful black hair. Her eyes were large and brown. 
Perhaps she was twelve years old. On her arm hung a basket 
containing a number of ties of variegated color, plain linen, hand- 
made. 

"Why yes, little girl, I'll buy a tie," replied the Manager, with 
an amused twinkle in his eye, and a charitable smile on his face. 
"Let's see, wait a moment, I will just take all of them. What 
shall I pay you?" 

"No, you won't take all of them," she said, and her large brown 
eyes danced and sparkled with meaning. "You don't have to 
take any, unless you really want them; besides I want to sell 
some of them to someone else. I'm no beggar. I made the 
ties myself, I ask for them twenty-five cents apiece and they are 
worth the price." 

The Manager looked surprised and non-plussed. The charit- 
able smile on his face changed to a look of inquiring interest. 

Charles Frederick Adams was the Manager of a popular theater, 
and he frequently came to this poor, dingy district of the crowded 
metropolis in search of boys and girls — waifs of the world — 
with whom for a small price, or no price, he could replenish his 
supernumerary list and chorus contingent. Such was his mis- 
sion on this occasion. 

He looked into this girl's face and studied her very pronounced 
expression. "My, this is something out of the ordinary," thought 



[76] 



The Leading Lady. 



he. Poverty, 'tis true had placed its stamp on this face; but 
honesty and independence of a certain degree were not covered 
up. 

"Very well, little angel," he said, "I will take only six of them. 
May I buy that many? I will thank you to' sell me that number." 
An apologetic tone, perhaps affected, marked his voice. 

"All right, sir; I thank you," and she quickly started on. "I 
thank you so much," she said, turning toward him again 

"Wait a moment, little girl. Will you please tell me your 
name?" 

"My name is Fredda Holt, sir." 

"And, may I ask where is your home?" 

"What, sir — home? O, I know what you mean — I eat and 
sleep at the Bowery Mission — lots of girls stay there, and we 
have so much fun — of its kind. I reckon it's pretty poor fun 
from what I'm told." 

"Why, little girl — Fredda, I mean — that is such a sweet name — 
where are your parents — father and mother?" 

"They're dead. Papa was killed at the foundry and mamma 
died, they say, of pride and independence, but I know she was 
poor." 

The Manager knew what she meant. He had seen scores of 
similar cases. The poor mother was too weak and frail to live, 
too proud and independent to accept charity from anyone. He 
noAV understood why Fredda had refused to sell him all her ties. 
She, too, had inherited her mother's spirit. 

"So you are at the Mission, are you?" 

"Yes, sir; there are dozens of us there. They do the best they 
can for us, they say. J know they do. They are church folks, 
and the women are so kind and good. They teach us the cate- 
chism, the Lord's prayer, and things like that, and now I am 
learning the twenty-third Psalm. They teach us out of a book, 
I believe they call it the Bible, and they tell us to be good chil- 
dren, and the Lord will bless us and care for us. Miss Hood, 
one of the good women, said that somebody, God I believe, no- 
ticed even the sparrow's fall, and cared for everybody. I wonder 
why he took papa and mamma away, though." 

The Manager was interested. He paused, started, and then 
paused again. "She is so bright," thought he, "so good, so pure, 
so innocent." 



[77] 



Musing Moments. 



Fredda was a beautiful girl, blessed, or cursed (which?) with 
all the charms and undeveloped grace that nature could bestow 
upon her. Dark raven hair, soft brown eyes that spoke volumes, 
fair rosy cheeks and a beautiful, straight figure. 

''Fredda," spoke the Manager, "do you like the Mission for a 
home?" 

"Yes, I like it, sir; they are so good to me — " then a look of 
hesitancy passed over her face. "No, I don't like to' stay there. 
They do things because you are poor. I know I am poor, and I 
am thankful to them, but I like to do something by myself. 1 
make ties and sell them, but when I ask people to buy them 
they do like you did, smile, and buy them, but I know they don't 
want them. I ought to be so thankful, but — " 

She never finished. 

"Why, Fredda — how would you like to — ". The Manager 
stopped, as if a conflict was going on within. Again he thought, 
"She is so innocent — but she is talented — and beautiful. She 
would make such an attraction when she is a little older." Fi- 
nally, he lifted his face, as if something had conquered in his 
soul. "O well," thought he, "when she is older, the Mission 
won't care for her longer, and she will marry someone of these 
wretched men here who will kill her very soul. She will go with 
the rest, into the slum of poverty and wretchedness, her beauty 
and talents buried; why should I not try to persuade her to go 
to the 'Lyric' with me?" 

At last he said, "Fredda, I am looking for a little girl just like 
you. You are the very girl I want. If you would like to go with 
me, you can make your living without selling ties. I will teach 
you to' sing and dance, and I will care for you. You will have 
money of your own, and the good women can take someone else 
to their Mission — some poor child who can not care for itself. 
Won't you go with me?" 

"Why, mister, where is this paradise you speak of? Is that 
the place the good women have been telling me about, where 
people are happy all the time? Surely that is the place, and are 
you the man they call Jesus who takes little girls and cares for 
them? I thought somebody was just writing for fun when they 
said, 'The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,' but now I be- 
lieve it." 

The Manager appeared disconcerted a bit, but he managed to 



78 



The Leading Lady. 



regain himself. "No, Fredda, this is not the place the good 
women told yon about, but it is a place where little girls sing 
and dance and make merry, and make other people happy and 
furnish them pleasure." 

"Does God notice even the sparrow's fall there?" 

"God does that everywhere, my child.' 1 

Again the conflict seemed renewed in the Manager's breast. 
Finally he said, "Well, good-bye, Fredda. I am so glad I saw you." 

"Why, mister, don't say good-bye yet. You have just begun 
to tell me about a Heaven here on earth, here in New York. I 
would like to go with you, please sir. But I will have to ask the 
good women at the Mission. They are so good to me." 

"Yes, Fredda, good-bye;" the automobile started — then stopped 
once more. "Good-bye, Fredda, I'll come to see you at the 
Mission — " 

Poor Fredda was left standing in mute amazement. He had 
told her so much, yet. he had not toid her enough. She forgot 
her ties, and went running back to the Mission. She was so full 
of wonder, she tried to tell what she had heard the "fine looking 
man" say, but no one noticed what she was trying to tell. She 
was anxious to see the "Lyric" and know what it was. 

Fred. Adams went back to his Broadway playhouse. The 
girl's face was haunting him. "She is the best one I have seen 
yet," said he to himself. "Why don't I get her to come? We 
need her; she would like to come, I know, and get out of that 
cold world where her life will be lost in poverty, perhaps crime. 
If I don't get her, maybe someone else will. She will sure make 
a hit, she can't help it, in a year or two. But she is so pure and 
innocent, and the stage has so much filth in it, so many shadows. 
What if she should yield to the temptations that might come to 
her? Then I would feel responsible and would be damned for 
eternity." 

Adams was noted as one of the best Managers of the minor 
theatres in New York. In a sense he was a man of the world, 
but deep in his bosom there was a conscience which he always 
kept guarded. 

"Well," he said, "I will just report this incident to the Presi- 
dent of the Lyric Opera Company, and if he says get her, why — 
I'll get her — if I can." 



79] 



Musing Moments. 



The President was interviewed, and he almost cursed Adams 
for not kidnapping the child and bringing her with him right off. 
He instructed him to set about at once to find her, and secure 
her at any hazard. 

With the sense of responsibility shifted to other shoulders, 
Adams felt relieved. But how would he get her from the Mis- 
sion. O — a thought struck him! "I will tell the 'good women' 
I am her uncle, and had been in search of her when I discovered 
her. That I am able to care for her, and will be glad to do so. 
The child won't know but that I am really her uncle. I'll just 
post the President and Mr. Lewis and a few others, who can 
make my representations O. K. should they undertake to investi- 
gate the truth of my claims." 

The following day, Fred. Adams might have heen seen in his 
motor car going toward the Bowery Mission. He told the women 
in charge that he was the Uncle of Fredda Holt, and was ready 
to take her and care for her. Fredda, of course, was delighted 
at the discovery, and gleefully sprang into his arms and kissed 
him. After thanking the good women for their pains with her, 
she got into the car and went to the Lyric Theater. As stated 
before, Fred. Adams was much of a gentleman, and felt an un- 
usual interest in this waif he had picked up in the street on the 
East Side. 

Fredda was so enraptured, innocently enraptured, with her 
new life and the giddy whirl to which she had been introduced, 
she often repeated the lines she learned in the big book at the 
Mission. "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want." This 
great, good man had brought her out of the slums into the gay, 
giddy world of wealth and pleasure and joy. 

She learned very rapidly. She was taught at first to sing and 
dance in the chorus. Young and full of health and interest in 
this paradise, she was happy and was soon the most popular of 
the younger girls, both with the management and the entire 
company. 

Fred. Adams watched her development and skill with much 
pride. He had made the most valuable find of his career. His 
eyes would sparkle and beam when he heard her soft, silvery 
voice filling the air with melody, or when she rehearsed her lines. 

Fredda Holt was the brightest, most original girl of the chorus. 
She was clever, funny, because her heart was full. Nothing had 



'80 



The Leading Lady. 



come as yet to disturb her innocent soul, except she had noticed 
so many of the older girls worn and haggard, sick, tired, and at 
last have to leave after weeks and months of constant work. 
She knew not where they went. She had noticed all this. She 
paid no attention to the whispers of boys and men in the au- 
diences she appeared before. To her they meant nothing. She 
was all-absorbed in her work. 



Two, three, four years passed and Predda was sixteen years 
of age, and the most popular chorus girl that had ever made her 
appearance in New York. She was rather slender and was grace- 
ful and beautiful. Those soft brown eyes were constantly alert, 
and still she was the sweet, innocent girl that Fred. Adams found 
with the ties in East Side. After all, he had seen to it that she 
was kept above stigma or reproach. She was a drawing card and 
it paid to keep a close look for her welfare. 

For eight months Olga Linden had been the leading lady in 
"The Golden Slipper," a beautiful musical comedy. Nighv, after 
night for all this length of time, she had appeared before the 
footlights, and a full house greeted her each time she appeared. 
Fredda was playing a minor roll. At last, under the long strain 
of weeks and months, the leading lady began to show signs of 
fatigue. She was threatened with a nervous breakdown. Fredda 
had noticed this. She had observed the pink flush of life fading 
from Olga's cheeks, her voice was losing its tender melody. 
She was sick. When the President opened his mail one morn- 
ing he found a note from Olga asking for a vacation, that she 
might go away and rest. She suggested a change in the 
play, that another might take the leading role. The President 
threw the letter madly on the floor. "No, just when we are be- 
ginning to make money, she wants to lay down on us. I have 
heard that cry before. No, her contract is for the year, and not 
a cent will she get until the year is closed." 

Olga had been making out with just enough money to buy her 
gowns and pay her various expenses. She had no time to use 
more. The President called her to his office and told her flatly 
that he could not grant her request — that she must "tough it 
out" or quit without pay. Poor Olga was so depressed she knew 
not what to do. That night she appeared on the stage again. 
She nerved herself to stand up under her suffering and responded 

[81] 



Musing Moments. 



gracefully to the many curtain calls that greeted her. But a 
sigh of relief came when the play was over, or she had a 
few moments in the dressing room. She continued to appear 
night after night, until at last nerve-broken and exhausted, she 
swooned as the curtain fell on the last act. 

Fredda was so disturbed. Her profoundest sympathy went 
out to Olga, and she was willing to do anything she could. She 
had been learning the lines for sometime, and felt that she had 
almost mastered them. She would try it, anyhow. Olga dearly 
loved and fairly worshipped her. The President was demanding 
that Olga should appear, even after she fainted following a per- 
formance. "Surely," thought Fredda, "the good women told 
me that God noticed even the sparrow's fall. Yet has He taken 
his protecting arm from about this poor girl." 

The next engagement came, and the house was packed. Olga 
was there once more to assume her role, but the thought of it 
sickened her, and she fainted again before the curtain arose. 
What would they do? The moment had arrived. The crowd was 
clamorously calling for the curtain to arise. The President was 
swearing with bated breath. "Adams," said he, "this is a pretty 
sort of management. You are fired, get out! I need no such 
fakers as you for managers." 

"Mr. Weston," cried a voice, "let the curtain go up, I'll take 
Olga's role." The President looked around, and Fredda was 
coming with outstretched arms, wringing her hands, and plead- 
ing for the play to begin, and for him to allow her to take the 
place of the leading lady. "Oh, the dickens! you'll make a mess 
of everything! I am ruined, I am ruined! Listen to the mob!" 
"I will take her place, poor girl, and God being with me, you 
shall not lose a patron, if dollars are all you are after." She 
sounded the curtain call, and the play was on. 

Soon Fredda Holt appeared as the leading lady. She never 
looked grander or more confident. A perfect tumult of applause 
greeted her. When that died away after many moments had 
elapsed, she spoke in clear, splendid phrase every word, every 
line without a quiver. She could not respond to the many cur- 
tain calls that marked the close of each act. Fred. Adams' "hit" 
was more than realized. 

When the show was over, she went to Olga, and with tears 
streaming down her cheeks, poured out that sympathy which 



82 



The Leading Lady. 



only a woman can. She told Olga she would fill the remainder 
of her contract, and she should have every cent the management 
had agreed to pay her. 

The President went to his office and addressed a letter to 
Miss Linden, stating she might consider her contract closed, that 
Fredda Holt would finish the season at the "Lyric" as the lead- 
ing lady in "The Golden Slipper." Fredda implored the Presi- 
dent to reconsider, insisting that she would play the role only 
so long as Miss Linden could not appear. She was made to un- 
derstand that there would be no reconsideration, as his mind was 
fixed. Fredda persuaded Miss Linden to go abroad and rest and 
regain her strength, and divided her earnings, which she had 
saved, with her. 

At Fredda's solicitation, Mr. Adams was reinstated as Manager, 
and she continued to appear as the leading lady at the "Lyric." 
Every seat was occupied and hundreds could not secure tickets, 
even for a week ahead. This would not do. The President be- 
gan to think how he would arrange it. He enlarged the house; 
still he could not accommodate the crowds that rushed to see 
Fredda Holt in "The Golden Slipper." He at last asked her to 
fill two engagements daily. She at first declined. He then de- 
manded that she do so; then with the idea of helping Olga, and 
at the further request of Mr. Adams, she agreed to fill two en- 
gagements daily. This soon taxed her strength to the utmost, 
and she fully realized that this must cease. At last she deter- 
mined to discontinue the strain, and bluntly told the President so. 
But Winston had secured control of all the better class 
theaters in the city, and defiantly announced to her that she 
MUST stay at the "Lyric." He taunted her with having taken 
her from the streets and made her what she was. Told her of 
Fred. Adams' deception, that he was not her uncle, that he would 
publish her to the world just what she was, and that he would 
close the door of employment to her everywhere. Poor Fredda, 
she had never known much except the Mission and the Lyric 
Opera House. She had no time to get out in the big world and 
learn about it. 

But her spirit of independence was again aroused as it was 
the day she told Fred. Adams he should not buy all her ties. She 
was worried, it is true, but determined. She sat in her room one 



[83] 



Musing Moments. 



evening, and the thought she had learned at the Mission returned 
again, "God notices even the sparrow's fall, and cares for it." 

She wrote the President a nice but very emphatic letter re- 
signing. She also wrote "Uncle Fred" denouncing him for his 
deception, and requesting never to be permitted to see him again. 

When "Uncle Fred" received this message he was never more 
surprised. How had she learned of his deception? He had 
looked after her and cared for her, perhaps for the money she 
would bring the "Lyric," 'tis true, but he had looked after her 
every necessity, and had taken every precaution to remove her 
from the usual calumny attached to actors and actresses. She 
was still pure and innocent, and sweet and beautiful. In fact, 
Fred. Adams had wondered how he himself could tell her of his 
deception with his own lips. He knew she was no ordinary 
woman, and he knew she was proud and independent, even when 
she was but a waif in the narrow, filthy streets in the East Side. 
Was Fred. Adams in love with this girl? Was he in love with 
Fredda Holt? He dearly loved to speak her name, and never 
failed to use an "Uncle's" privilege of kissing her good-morning 
and good-night, and to mischievously play with her raven curls. 
Certainly an "Uncle" and guardian had a right to do this. She 
was as pure and innocent as the snow fresh from heaven, though 
"Uncle" Fred, had manifested this unusual interest in her, and 
paid her these tender courtesies. 

But Fredda was in her room alone. All the years came up 
before her. She was deceived. Fred. Adams was not her "Uncle." 
The President had the advantage of her and she knew it. 
But she was determined. She would end it all. She would send 
Olga Linden her money, and she, well — she — it didn't matter 
what became of her. There was East River, there was the Bay 
not far distant, and its billows would soon drown her disap- 
pointment. Were these good women at the Mission deceiv- 
ing her, too? Yes, they had filled her mind with those dreams 
which could never come true. Was she not more in the eyes of 
Heaven than a dirty little sparrow? The good women had said 
so, but she had been deceived. The whole world was naught but 
deception. Therefore, she would not plead with it. She was 
"no beggar." 

She wrote to Olga, enclosing all the money she possessed, 
then quietly sne left her room and went out into the night. "The 



[84] 



The Leading Lady. 



Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," she repeated. "Bah! 
More deception." She went across the street to post her letter 
to Olga. A voice called to her: 

'•Fredda, is that you." She recognized the voice as that of 
"Uncle" Fred. "Where are you going?" She screamed and 
darted into the darkness. Adams followed and overtook her. 

"Fredda, he cried, I did deceive you, but listen, Fredda. 
The day I saw you, I knew you were unusual. I knew you 
were too pure, too innocent to go to the 'Lyric' — but I knew 
you were too intelligent, too pure, too innocent to risk your 
life in the East Side. I deceived you because I loved you, 
even then. I waged an awful conflict, and sought to forget you, 
to shift all responsibility for your future to other shoulders, but 
I loved you, Fredda — I loved you. You are pure gold, and have 
grown dearer to me each day. I, too, have resigned and will no 
longer manage the 'Lyric'. I am not wealthy, but I can keep and 
protect you, as I have all these years. Haven't I, Fredda?" She 
was a reasonable girl, and she had to admit the care that had 
been exercised over her by Fred. Adams, even if she could not 
say, or know, whether this care was exercised merely because 
she could earn money for the Lyric Company. 

She told him her resolve. Told him of the letter to Olga. He 
persuaded her to let him open the letter. He shuddered at the 
thought of her rash determination. He loved her the more be- 
cause of her unselfishness toward Olga. "Fredda, keep this, 
won't you, and come with me. I am not your 'Uncle,' and I am 
glad of it. I can be nearer than that without any deception, 
real or fictitious." 

"Mr. Adams, look me squarely in the face! Are you deceiving 
me again? I always admired your big, generous heart. You 
were my ideal of a man. You were my dream of a perfect man. 
I was so glad to think you were my 'Uncle.' When I looked at 
you, I thought surely you must be the Good Man who should 
come to save souis. The good women at the Mission told me so 
much of Him, and when I saw you, in my ignorance and inno- 
cence, I thought you must be He. I, too, am glad you are not 
my 'Uncle' after all." 

"Then, you will be my wife?" 

"What about Olga? Can't we care for her, too? And the Mis- 
sion, can't we help them? O, they were so good to me." 



[85] 



Musing Moments. 



"Yes, Fredda, I'll do anything in the world I can to please you 
and atone for any deception of which I have been guilty." 

"Yes, you will atone, but is that the right word?" 

"Yes, Fredda, you have taught me that 'The Lord is my shep- 
herd, I shall not want; He maketh me to lie down in green pas- 
tures, He leadeth me beside the still waters — He restoreth my 
soul — surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days 
of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever." 

October 24, 1908. 




86 J 



Opinion. 



(Sitting as Special Judge in Moot Court, Vanderbilt Law School.) 

JOHN SMITH ) In the Vanderbilt Moot Court. 

vs. v Mr. Fisher, Counsel for Plaintiff. 

JAMES CATO J Mr. Hall, Counsel for Defendant. 

It appears that the Plaintiff in this case is a manufacturer and 
seller of "hacks" and heavy carriages and wagons, this being his 
general line of business. It further appears that Defendant, 
James Cato, applied to him for the manufacture of a carriage, 
or vehicle which was out of the ordinary style of vehicles plain- 
tiff was accustomed to make. They agreed that this carriage 
should be made, and that the price of same should be $200.00. 
This was merely an oral agreement between the parties, no 
written contract being entered into. 

When the carriage was completed according to specifications 
and was ready to be delivered, Defendant declined to accept 
the same. No special reason for this action on his part appears 
in the record. 

Plaintiff brings this action to recover on the contract. 

Defendant pleads the general issue, and bases his defense on 
the Statute of Frauds, which requires that certain contracts he 
in writing. 

The 17th Section of the English Statute of Frauds is the one 
which determines this case. This section provides as follows: 

"No contract for the sale of any goods, wares, or mer- 
chandise, for the price of ten pounds sterling, or upwards, 
shall be allowed to he good, except the buyer shall accept 
part of the goods so sold, and actually receive the same; 
or give something in earnest to bind the bargain, or in 
part payment; or that some note or memorandum in writ- 
ing of the said bargain be made and signed by the parties 
to be charged by such contract, or their agents thereunto 
lawfully authorized." 

This statute has been enacted in a majority of the States of 
the United States, in substance if not in letter. Some of the 



[87] 



Musing Moments. 



States make the amount of consideration $50.00, some a less 
amount. 

It has been generally settled that this statute applies to exe- 
cutory as well as executed contracts. 
Tiffany, on Sales, says: 

"The statute does not apply to contracts for work, labor 
and materials." 

In the case at bar the sole question to ! be considered is: Was 
this agreement to build this carriage an agreement for 
the sale of "Goods, wares and merchandise;" or was it 
merely an agreement for "Work, labor and materials." If it 
amounted to a contract for the sale of "Goods, wares and mer- 
chandise," then the contract should have been in writing in order 
that it might be enforceable upon the completion of the terms 
of the bargain; and if it was not in writing, then same was with- 
out force, and Plaintiff would be without recourse against De- 
fendant. 

If, on the other hand, this was a contract merely for "Work, 
labor and materials," it need not be in writing to render it en- 
forceable, and the Plaintiff in this action would be entitled to 
recover of the Defendant if, of course, notice was given upon 
the completion of the job. 

There is quite a conflict of opinion as to what renders this 
section of the Statute of Frauds applicable to contracts such as 
the one we here have under consideration. 

There seem to be three separate lines of decisions in regard 
to what constitutes a contract for the sale of "goods, wares 
and merchandise," and what constitutes a contract merely 
for "work, labor and materials." Tiffany, as well as most 
other authorities on this subject, designate these various hold- 
ings as the English Rule, the Massachusetts Rule, and the Ne^w 
York Rule. 

Tiffany, on Sales, p. 36, lays down the rules as follows: 

"ENGLISH RULE— The English Rule, which is followed 
in some States, is that a contract whereby the property 
in a chattel is to be transferred for a price from one per- 
son to another is a contract of sale, and is. within the 
statute, although the chattel is to be the product of the 



[88] 



Opinion. 



work, labor and materials of the person who is to transfer 
the property." 

"MASSACHUSETTS RULE— The Massachusetts Rule, 
which is followed in some States, is the same, except that 
if the chattel is to be manufactured especially for the 
buyer, upon his special order, and is not such as the seller 
in his ordinary business manufactures for the general 
market, the contract is for work, labor and materials, and 
is not within the statute." 

"NEW YORK RULE— The New York Rule, which is 
followed in some States, is that the contract for the sale 
of a chattel not in existence, which the seller is to manu- 
facture, is a contract for work, labor and materials and 
is not within the statute; but, if the chattel is in existence, 
the contract is one of sale, and is within the statute, al- 
though the seller is to adapt it to the use of the buyer." 

In its deliberations, the Court has selected a leading case under 
each of these rules, and has endeavored to give careful study to 
the reasons assigned for the holding in each case. 

The leading case under the English Rule seems to be that of 
LEE vs. GRIFFIN, decided in 1851. In this case the action was 
on an oral contract for the manufacture by a dentist of a set of 
teeth, and the defense was that it was within the statute 
of frauds and therefore unenforceable because not in writing. 
The plaintiff argued that it was a contract for work, labor and 
skill, and though some materials were furnished, they were un- 
important ana secondary. The Court held that it was a contract 
for the sale of a chattel, and therefore the sale of goods, wares 
and merchandise, and within the statute. 

Blackburn, J., said: 

"If the contract be such that it will result in the sale 
of a chattel, the proper form of action, if the employer 
refuses to accept the article when made, would be for not 
accepting. But if the work and labor be bestowed in such 
a manner, as that the result would not be anything which 
could properly toe said to be the subject of sale, then an 
action for work and labor is the proper remedy." 



[89 



Musing Moments. 



Now, turning to the Massachusetts Rule, the case of 
Goddard vs. Binney, 115 Mass. 450, seems to be a leading one: 

In this case, Goddard, a carriage manufacturer in Boston, 
agreed to build a buggy for Binney and to deliver it at a time, 
certain. Binney gave directions as to the style and finish of 
the buggy, and it was built in compliance with his directions, 
and marked with his monogram. Before the buggy was finished 
Binney called to see it, and in response to an enquiry of God- 
dard, asking if he might sell the buggy, replied that he would 
keep it. When the buggy was finished, Goddard sent Binney a 
bill for it. The buggy was afterwards destroyed by fire while 
in Goddard's possession. Here it was held that the contract 
was not one of sal© within the Statute of Frauds, and that the 
property had passed and Binney was liable for the price. 

In discussing this case AMES, Justice, said: 

"Whether an agreement like that described in this re- 
port should be considered as a contract for the sale of 
goods, within the meaning of the statute of frauds, or 
whether a contract for labor, services and materials, and 
therefore not within the statute, is a question upon which 
there is a conflict of authority. According to a long course 
of decisions in New York, and in some other States of the 
Union, an agreement for the sale of any commodity not 
in existence at the time, but which the vendor is to manu- 
facture and put in a condition to be delivered (such as 
flour from wheat not yet ground, or nails to he made from 
iron in the vendor's hands), is not a contract of sale within 
the statute. (Citing Crookshank vs. Burrell, etc.) 

"In England, on the other hand, the tendency of the re- 
cent decisions is to treat all contracts of such a kind in- 
tended to result in a sale, as substantially contracts for 
the sale of chattels; and in the decision of Lee vs.. Griffin, 
1 B. & S. 272, goes so far as to hold that a contract to 
make and fit a set of artificial teeth for a patient is essen- 
tially a contract for the sale of goods, and is therefore 
subject to the provisions of the statute. (Citing cases.) 

"In this Commonwealth, a rule avoiding both of these 
extremes was established in Mixer vs. Howarth, 21 Pick. 
205, and has been recognized and affirmed in repeated de- 
cisions of more recent date. The effect of these decisions 



[90 



Opinion. 



we understand to be this, namely, that a contract for the 
sale of articles then existing, or such as the vendor in the 
ordinary course of his business manufactures or procures 
for the general market, whether on hand at the time or 
not, is a contract for the sale of goods, to which the statute 
applies. But on the other hand, if the goods are to be 
manufactured especially for the purchaser, and upon his 
special order, and not for the general market, the case is 
not within the statute. 'The distinction', says Chief Jus- 
tice Shaw, in Lamb vs. Crafts, 12 Met. 353, 'we believe is 
now well understood. When a person stipulates for the 
future sale of articles, which he is habitually making, and 
which at the time are not made or finished, it is essen- 
tially a contract of sale, and not a contract for labor; 
otherwise, when the article is made pursuant to the agree- 
ment.' " 

The Court then goes on to say that upon the completion of the 
buggy and an offer to deliver, or rather notice given to the pur- 
chaser that same was finished and ready for delivery, passed 
the property in the article to the purchaser, and that he was 
liable for the purchase price though the buggy was destroyed 
by fire while yet in the plaintiff's possession. 

Now turning to the New York Rule, a leading case seems to 
be that of Crookshank vs. Burrell, 18 Johns, 58; 9 American Dec. 
187. 

This action was brought on a contract whereby it was agreed 
that plaintiff should make the wood-work of a wagon, which the 
defendant should pay for in lambs, at one dollar a head. Plain- 
tiff made the wagon as agreed. Defendant declined to accept 
the same. Spencer, C. J., said: 

"But admitting that the price agreed upon was dol- 
lars, still it would not be a case within the statute. . . In 
Bennett vs. Hull, 10 Johns 364, we decided that the statute 
applied to executory as well as other contracts, and we 
recognized the cases of Rondeau vs. Wyatt; and Cooper 
vs. Elston, 7 T. R. 14, as containing a just and sound con- 
struction of the statute. In giving the opinion in those 
cases, the judges referred to the case of Towers vs. Os- 
borne, Str. 506, with approbation. In that case the de- 

r 9i l 



Musing Moments. 



fendant bespoke a chariot, and after it was made for him, 
refused to take it; and Pratt, C. J., ruled that it was not a 
case within the statute. In Clayton vs. Andrews, 4 Burr. 
2101, it was decided that an agreement to deliver wheat, 
understood to be unthreshed, was not within the statute. 
The distinction taken by Lord Loughboro in Rondeu vs. 
Wyatt, and by judges who gave opinions seriatim in 
Cooper vs. Elston, was between a contract for a thing 
existing 'in solido,' and an agreement for a thing not 
yet made, to be delivered at a future date. The contract, 
in the latter case, they considered not to be a contract for 
the sale and purchase of goods, but a contract for work 
and labor merely. However refined this distinction may 
be, it is well settled, and it is now too late to question it." 

Now, from a careful examination of the foregoing cases, which 
illustrate the holding of each rule, we gather the following as 
the tests under each Rule: 

ENGLISH RULE — Does the contract result in the sale of a 
chattel? 

MASSACHUSETTS RULE — Does the contract result in the 

sale of a chattel which is the product of the seller's regular line 

of manufacture or sale; or is it the result of a special agreement? 

NEW YORK RULE— Does the chattel exist "in solido?" Is the 

subject of the contract "in esse" at the time of the contract? 

In the case of Pitkin vs. Noyes, 48 N. H. 294; 9 Am. Dec. 190, 
we find a clear exposition of the doctrine held by the cases as 
follows : 

'If a person contract to manufacture and deliver at a 
future time certain goods, at prices then fixed, or at rea- 
sonable prices, the essence of the agreement being that 
he will bestow his own labor and skill upon the manu- 
facture, it is held not to be within the statute. If, on the 
other hand, the bargain be to deliver goods of a certain 
description at a future time, and they are not existing at 
the time of the contract, but the seller does not stipulate 
to manufacture them himself, or procure a particular per- 
son to do so, the contract is within the statute. The dis- 
tinction is that in the one case the party stipulates that 
he himself will manufacture the article, and the buyer has 



[92] 



Opinion. 



a right to require him to do it, and can not be compelled 
to take one as good, or even better, if made by another; 
while in the other case, the seller only agrees to sell, and 
deliver the article, and is under no obligation to make it 
himself, but may purchase it of another." 

In the case at bar the special contract, and the right of the 
buyer to require that the specific article shall be made in accord- 
ance with the agreement seems to be the essence of the contract. 
This, we believe, to be sound law. 

We do not think the New York rule is so well founded, because 
the nature of the contract and the application of the statute 
is made to depend on the fact that the subject of the contract 
is "in esse", or "in solido." This appears to us to be extreme, and 
really evades what we thing to be the real object of the statute, 
at least this particular section, which is intended for the proper 
government of contracts between business and commercial men. 

On the other hand, we think that the English Rule also goes 
to an extreme in holding that every contract which results in 
the sale of a chattel comes within the statute, especially when 
it comes to be applied in the United States. 

For instance, here a deed is held to be a chattel, but if A 
employes B, an attorney, to write a deed, the attorney furnish- 
ing the paper and ink, and performs the task of drafting the 
same, the result, strictly speaking, would be the sale of a chat- 
tel, or rather the transfer of a chattel, but it is plain that it was 
the attorney's skill, etc., in such matters that was the real ob- 
ject in the contemplation of the party having the deed written. 

So, the rule, known as the Massachusetts Rule, appeals to us 
as having the soundest reasoning, and to more nearly accom- 
plish the object of the statute itself than either of the other 
rules. 

When we apply this rule to the case at bar, we find that Cato 
contracted with Smith for a vehicle, a closed carriage, which 
was not in the usual line of manufacture by Smith. Cato had 
a right to expect Smith to make this carriage according to this 
special agreement, and Smith could not have procured another 
elsewhere just as good or even better than the one contracted 
for by Cato. The existence of the carriage itself upon comple- 
tion was proof that it was not the ordinary carriage or vehicle 
manufactured by the plaintiff in this case. Upon its completion, 



93] 



Musing Moments. 



Smith notified Cato of the fact, and had a right to expect him 
to take it. The property in the carriage passed upon this notice 
being given, and according to the rule laid down in Goddard vs. 
Binney, had the carriage been destroyed by fire after this notice, 
the loss would have fallen on Cato. 

Accordingly, we must hold that this contract is not within the 
statute, and that evidence of a parol agreement must properly 
be admitted and the objection of counsel for Defendant to such 
evidence must be over-ruled. In order to get the case and the 
nature of the contract before the Court, we think it might have 
been properly heard, even though the Court should have held 
that it came within the statute, and should not be regarded in the 
determination of the case. 

It will be further noted just here that Plaintiff sues to recover 
only $100.00. Under our decision, he might as well have recov- 
ered the full consideration, which was $200.00, as the carriage 
is the property of Defendant, with a lien still existing, of course, 
for the payment of the purchase price. 

Let judgment be entered against Defendant for the sum of 
$100.00, with interest from date of tendering the carriage, which 
was legally the date of delivery by Plaintiff to Defendant. 



February, 1908. 



[94] 



The Power of Courts to Disbar. 



Th>® lEm£(Q)E(&®mmm£ ®fl 3Law g IDilscussliig 

JMdlgp^ uMl Pi?®g^emiasi§ 
Attorneys 

"Shall the majesty of the law be sustained? Shall or not our 
laws be enforced?" 

These are questions that are being daily propounded for the 
close and careful consideration of every citizen of this State, 
and of the United States. The questions are timely and well 
put. They are receiving closer and more careful consideration 
in the minds of the great body of the people, who at last are the 
guardians of our liberties, and who form the bulwark of our 
institutions of government; and they in turn are propounding 
these same questions to their representatives and officials, in 
whose hands they have reposed the confidence of preserving 
and maintaining^the public good and welfare of both State and 
Nation. 

In other days, the majesty of the law was conceded by the 
people as a whole, as well as by their representatives in the 
various departments of government. When laws were enacted 
by the people's representatives in the legislative halls, both 
State and National, and placed upon the statute books, they 
were respected and regarded as the law of the land unless in 
contravention of all constitutional right; and even then doubts 
were resolved in favor of the constitutionality of the law until 
the contrary was adjudged by proper judicial authority. Or, in 
the event the law might not be in contravention of rights and 
liberties guaranteed by the constitution specifically, yet, if it 
worked undue hardships and was in itself deemed inherently 
wrong in principle, the remedy was in the people themselves, to 
be expressed at the polls when new representatives were to be 
chosen. The disposition was to enforce the law while it stood, 
and thereby the "majesty of the law" was upheld, while its 
defects were revealed by its enforcement until repealed by the 
property authority. 

The fact is deplorable, but none the less true, that there is a 
growing disposition, especially among the officers of the State 



[ 95] 



Musing Moments. 



and Nation, either to hold certain laws placed upon our 
statute books by the peoples' representatives in the various Gen- 
eral Assemblies and in the Congress in contempt, else utterly 
disregard them — yes, defy them. As a consequence, the great 
mass of people are -beginning to think, and turn these things 
over in their minds, and a distinct disquietude is felt by all law- 
abiding citizens, and the inevitable result will be a complete 
revolution against this disregard for law, or the laxity of its 
enforcement, and a returning to the faith of our fathers — that 
of jealously guarding and upholding the majesty of the law. 

In our own State of Tennessee, this disregard and contempt 
for law and order has grown to be so flagrant as to become gratu- 
itous, and there is a disposition upon the part of many of our 
State officials, especially some of our Attorneys General to 
openly rebel against any attempt to enforce the laws against 
saloons, gambling dives, and lawlessness, generally. This has 
been encouraged and protected in some localities where it seems 
that the lawless element and their sympathizers prevail. It has 
been further encouraged by those higher in authority, who seem 
to glory in defeating the results of those prosecutions which 
have been successful in bringing to justice the violaters of 
these laws. 

It is of the highest importance that these questions are being 
agitated at this time, and the lines drawn between those who 
respect the law, and those who disregard it. Shall there be 
law, or shall their be anarchy? Shall the people rule, or shall 
the lawless rule? Shall the enforcement of all laws on our 
statute books be the test of their righteousness and efficacy, or 
shall the toleration of open and flagrant rebellion against them 
be the test? 

In this connection, it might be interesting to put the questions 
directly to our State's Attorneys, and learn from them their con- 
ception of their duty, and their regard for their oaths as officers 
to uphold the law, and prosecute all violators to the extent of 
their ability. And it might be interesting further to investigate 
what their duties to their client, the State, are, and their rela- 
tion as officers of the State and Attorneys at Law. 

We are frequently met with the wail that public sentiment, 
perhaps purely local, is against the enforcement of certain laws, 
and it is useless to attempt to enforce them. Does this pretence 



[9GJ 



The Power of Courts to Disbar. 



excuse an Attorney General from doing all he can to apprehend 
and bring to justice the violators of such laws? And further, 
does it excuse the Attorney General from regarding his oath of 
office, or from efforts to prosecute the lawless because in nine 
cases out of ten, or ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, juries 
fail to convict? We maintain that in neither instance is the 
State's Attorney excused. 

If our Attorneys General do their duty, and our Judges do 
their duty, and charge the juries in regard to the laws as they 
actually exist, then the majesty of the law is upheld. When the 
people see that their officials are going to enforce the laws, they 
will respect both the laws and the officials. At least, if the law 
proves to be without merit — a bad law, they will go to the polls 
and elect representatives who will repeal the unwholesome law. 
On the other hand, if these officers fail in their duties, the law- 
less will take advantage of one flagrant disregard and defiance 
of law, and objections will be brought to all law, which is noth- 
ing more than anarchy. 

Now, what relation does a State's Attorney, under his oath of 
office, as well as his duty as an officer of the Court, sustain to 
the public and the commonwealth in the prosecution of viola- 
tions of statutes? And in what attitude should he be regarded 
for a willful dereliction of duty in at least attempting to prose- 
cute law violators? 

It has been held that a State's Attorney who neglects to prose- 
cute offenders of laws, when proofs of such offenses are fur- 
nished him, or can be procured by him, is guilty of a misde- 
meanor, and, such misdemeanor is one involving moral turpi- 
tude authorizing disbarment or suspension; and that a State's 
Attorney is not excused from performing his official duties as 
State's attorney .because local sentiment largely predominates 
in favor of the non-enforcement of laws that have been violated, 
and that he is not excused from attempting in good faith to per- 
form such duties because convictions are difficult to obtain. 

Attention is called to the case of In Re VOSS, 11 N. Dak. 540, 
in which offenders against the prohibition law of North Dakota, 
after being arrested and brought in for prosecution, were al- 
lowed to pay pro rata the sheriff's fees for searches and service 
of papers, and permitted to go free without prosecution in the 
courts. The agreement to allow the offenders to pro rate these 



[97] 



Musing Moments. 



costs and go unprosecuted was reached at a meeting of a Citi- 
zens' Protective Association, in which the sentiment of a ma- 
jority of the members was against the enforcement of the pro- 
hibition laws, and the meeting was held in the office of Voss, 
the State's Attorney, though he was not present during all the 
deliberations of that meeting. 

In a proceeding to suspend Voss, the State's Attorney, from 
practicing in the Courts of the State, the above was filed as one 
of the counts against him, and in sustaining it, the Court said: 

"It is our conclusion that he (Voss) acquiesced in the action 
of the meeting at his office, and, in conformity to the sentiment 
and wishes of the majority at that meeting, took no further 
action in the cases, and did not intend to. We can not find from 
a reading of the evidence that he did not know that it was the 
sentiment of that meeting that the prosecution should be dropped 
and discontinued. The attendance at this meeting was fourteen. 
It lasted one hour. There was much discussion. Mr. Voss par- 
ticipated in such discussion while present, and he was present 
a considerable portion of the time. Mr. Voss knew that the 
county was not thereafter asked to pay such fees, and must 
have known that the reason for ascertaining the correct amount 
of such fees in each case was that it was intended by the meet- 
ing that the defendants were to pay such sum. The defendants 
were not liable for the payment of such costs at that time. On 
what theory did they pay such sum, except on the condition 
that the actions were not to be further proceeded with. None 

other is apparent or suggested Judgment could have 

been applied for, and on producing evidence to the Court of the 
maintenance of a nuisance by the unlawful sale or keeping for 
sale of intoxicating liquors by the defendants, the actions would 
have been decided in an orderly manner, either by the granting 
of a permanent injunction and a decree declaring the defendants 
guilty of maintaining a nuisance or by a dismissal of the ac- 
tions for the want of evidence to warrant such a decree. It is 
proven in this record beyond question that some, if not all, of 
these defendants were engaged in openly running saloons, where 
intoxicating liquors were sold by them. It can not be enter- 
tained for a moment that evidence could not be produced to the 
Court, under such circumstances, sufficient to warrant a decree 
in favor of the plaintiff. No attempt was made to do so. 

"Undoubtedly there was a strong sentiment in Man dan against 
the enforcement of the prohibition law, but we lay no stress on 
the contention made that efforts to enforce the law .by actions 
such as these under consideration would be futile, as such con- 
tention is no less than an assertion that the citizens of Mandan 

[98] 



The Power of Courts to Disbar. 



and Morton counties would perjure themselves rather than per- 
mit the enforcement of the prohibition law." 

The above related more particularly to the specific case under 
consideration, but the Court in making general application, said: 

"The duties of State's attorneys are to be performed regard- 
less of public sentiment, and he who administers that office in 
deference to sentiment opposed to the law is unfit to hold that 
office or to be an attorney at law. It is not meant by us that 
States's attorneys are to furnish evidence of violations of the 
law, nor are they to act as detectives in order to further prose- 
cutions. Such action is not, in our judgment, contemplated by 
the statute. But it is his duty to force arguments on law mat- 
ters to a decision without being prompted, and if he knows of 
no evidence to warrant decrees in default cases the relator 
should be called on to produce the necessary proofs, and the 
State's Attorney's failure to act in such cases is not excused on 
the ground that public sentiment is hostile to the law, or that 
convictions are difficult to obtain on account of such sentiment." 

Then referring back to the case in hand, the Court said: 

"This question was asked of Mr. Voss: 'If there has been any 
act or neglect to act on your part which might be construed as a 
neglect to enforce either of these laws, was that act or neglect 
to act brought about by what appeared to you the exigency of the 
case, taking into consideration the general sentiment and feeling 
of the community?' He answered: 'Yes, sir; I realized the fact 
through the years that I have been public prosecutor that a 
penal statute does not rise above the sentiment back of it. The 
sentiment of the community respecting the enforcement of a 
law should not be the test as to whether it is to be enforced or 
not. State's attorneys are not permitted to thus practically 
repeal laws deemed obnoxious by their constituents. Their duty 
lies in the direction of attempting the enforcement of all laws 
when violations are properly brought to their attention." 

This seems to us to be a correct and logical answer to the 
continued cry of the lawless, and their sympathizers, that the 
law in regard to prohibition and other statutes can not be en- 
forced. Such a cry can mean nothing, and can result in nothing 
except a protest against the fundamental principles of repre- 
sentative government. And it was held in the above case that 
a yielding to public clamor, when it is against the enforcement 
of the law, involves the State's Attorney in such misconduct as 
to make him guilty of a misdemeanor, and justifies not only 

[99] 



Musing Moments. 



his suspension as such officer, but also his disbarment from 
practice in the courts of the State. 

In State vs. Foster, 32 Kan. 41, the Supreme Court said: 

"After the utterance of this oath, he (a State's attorney) can 
not sit down with folded hands and refuse to perform the duties 
imposed upon him solely upon the ground that the sentiment of 
the community or county in which he resides is in opposition 
to the enforcement of the criminal laws of the State. Under 
such doctrine, the more lawless the community, the less the 
criminal prosecutions." 



May, 1910. 



[100 



